The Girl Whose Name Was a Poem
by call-of-the-wind
Summary: Devnet Allaine, daughter to a sarmatian knight and a woad priestess, wasn't one of Arthur's knights. But she was part of them; a sister, a friend, even a lover. She grew up to be free but when a dark threat falls over the people she loves, she'll realize that freedom goes beyond chains and contracts. It's about home. Where the heart is.
1. Prologue: Going With The Big Boys

**_*Author's Note: Hey everyone :) Welcome to The Girl Whose Name Was A Poem . I know the name my sound a bit odd, but it will make sense right by the end of the prologue. The story starts a few weeks preview to the beginning of the movie, just so you get and idea of the time. I don't own anything save for Devnet and the situations non related to the movie. This is the first time I actually publish a fanfiction (or something that's not a short story for the matter). Well, I hope you like it. I'd love to read any reviews that come to you mind, just to see the general idea of what people think of the story, so reviews are most welcomed (and votes and follows won't harm anyone either, but there's no pressure) Now go and read something :)_**

_-Arthur!-._

_The cry at their backs had all the boys turning their heads. It was almoust as if a little bird was calling their future commander; its voice chipping against the noisy main street of the village. At first, the group saw nothing._

_-Over there-pointed Tristan, a boy with unkempt dark hair, and tattoos on his cheekbones. His sight was as good as a hawk's and he spotted the owner of the voice long before she appeared, pushing her way between the legs of those around her._

_It was a little girl, not taller than a man's knee, struggling to reach them. Her hair was dark brown, wavy and it flowed around her face, casting shadows over her pudgy pink cheeks. She had the biggest eyes, almoust too big for her small pale face. They were a strange mixture of brown specked with blue, or maybe blue specked with brown; either way they certainly stood out. They seemed to shine with begging innocence; turning her to a creature so pure, even the most brutal man would not dare to harm her. She looked like a bundle, all wrapped in furs to protect her from the cold bite of winter. Snow crunched beneath the weight of her boots as she urged her chubby legs to a trot._

_-Who's that?-a boy by the name of Gawain, with long dreadlocks of blond hair escaping from beneath his woollen hat, inquired, eyeing the toddler with surprise._

_-That's Devy-explained Arthur, slightly incommoded by the quizzical looks of the boys who would grow to be his knights when they were of age-She's sir Aynor's daughter. She follows me around sometimes, because her father was friends with my father so…you know…she just…follows…-._

_The sarmatian boys kept a respectful silence. They all admired sir Aynor, a former sarmatian knight who has remained in Britain after his service to Rome, because he had fallen in love with a woad, no doubt that little girl's mother. Now he instructed the boys on their training. However, they didn't quite fancy the idea of having his daughter tacking along on their adventure to the woods._

_She finally reached them. Normally, a girl her age and size would have been intimidated by the horses they rode, but she walked amongst them as if she'd grown between their legs, and finally hugged her short little arms around the leg of Arthur's horse._

_-I wanna go too-she pleaded, standing on her tiptoes._

_Arthur eyed her awkwardly. He didn't want to seem tender and weak in front of his future knights, after all he was to be their commander, and commanders don't pay attention to little five-year old girls._

_-You can't, Devy. Go home-he answered, trying to sound stern without hurting the little girl's feelings. Sir Aynor treasured his daughter above all else, and he'd made it quite clear that if someone ever made Devy cry, he'd cut their ears out and make them eat them._

_Devnet pouted, sticking out her lower-lip and making it tremble._

_-Why not?-she cried._

_-Because you're too small-interrupted another boy. Devnet stared at him with a childish little frown on her face. He was a big boy, with a hoarse voice and a round face._

_-Excuse me-she snapped, placing her hands on her tiny hips, accompanied with a tiny frown she had certainly copied from some woman around the fortress-But I've known how to ride since I was two…and by the way, you're holding the reins all wrong. The horse's head is supposed to be straight, not turned to the left, you …you-she searched her limited five year old vocabulary for a proper insult-you stupid cow-she finally stated, rather satisfied with herself._

_The boys laughed at the burly one, mocking the fact he'd been out-smarted by a five year old girl_

_-Apparently she'd not too small to kick your ass, Bors-cracked one._

_-Let her come, Arthur-._

_Devnet turned to the boy who had interrupted the laughing; a top of a very big black horse. He must have been around nine, because he looked a few years younger than Arthur, who Devy knew was eleven. He had a small smile on his white face. His hair, dark and curly, twisted in every direction, and fell over his coal-black eyes. The little girl couldn't help but blush faintly and stare at the ground, digging into the earth with the tip of her boot. She bagged her eyelashes shyly and smiled. _

_-What?-the young Castus seemed surprise by his companion's request._

_-Let her come-repeated the boy-I like her, she's funny-._

_-We don't have a spare horse-grunted Arthur. He'd hoped to have an all-boys ride were he could practise his future position as a commander. He didn't want Devy stealing the attention._

_-She'll ride with me-said the boy, and winked in her direction, causing her to giggle and reached out for him to pull her up. He sat her in front of him, throwing his arms around her-Besides, I have a feeling that even if we don't let her come, she'll follow us on those chubby little legs of hers- he flashed a charming smile at her._

_ Devnet clapped giddily, happy someone had come in her defence, and aimed for the reins._

_-No, no, no-said the boy, taking them away from her hands-If you want to come, you'll have to let me use the reins, okay?-._

_She gave a tiny whiny sight and nodded, plopping herself against the boys stomach._

_-Oh, fine. She can come, I guess-agreed Arthur, even though he knew she would've tagged along anyway, since she was already mounted._

_They'd turned their horses and headed towards the gates. Devy felt quite important and pleased with herself, for she had managed to go with the big boys. The boys were jesting with each other, except for the one she was riding with._

_-So, Devy-he broke the silence, with a friendly tone-What's your full name?-._

_-Devnet-she answered, turning her round little head to look at him-It means "poet". My mum named me. It's a celtic name-she chipped rather proudly. She reached out and played with a small pendant in the boy's chest, with the shape of a fanged beast-What's yours?-she asked._

_The boy grinned softly at her, taping the tip of her freckly nose with his index._

_-Im Lancelot-._

***Author's Note 2.0 : To make the story slightly_ (ver slightly)_ more accurate, I added Allaine as Devnet's second name; because it is a variant of Elaine. So at least we could say that her name is closer to the original Arthurian Legends. **


	2. I) The Remains

**Here it goes ! Please remember to tell me what you think! :)**

_*fifteen years later*_

The tavern was as noisy as ever that night. Farmers, town's men and roman soldiers alike were all clustered between the tables in an attempt to escape de chill of the late autumn evening. Serving girls danced in between the tables, delivering mugs full of strong ale to the already drunk men. The place rang with laughter and the somewhat detuned melody of the clearly drunk musicians.

Devnet herself was one of the serving girls, balancing a tray with six cups towards the noisiest table in the place, where the notable sarmatian knights of Hadrian's Wall were currently throwing bits of their food at each other. Devnet rolled her eyes.

_Boys will be boys. _

-Oy! Devnet!-called a young roman officer from a table a few steps away to her right-When are you coming down from God's sweet heaven and into my bed, angel?-.

A smile played across Devnet's plump lips, as she swirled around gracefully, her wavy brown locks flowing behind her.

-You know I don't need to leave heaven to get into you bed, Quintus-she winked right back at the man, who lifted his ale in her direction with appreciation.

-That's my girl!-.

Laughing and rolling her eyes once more, she made her way to the knights table. She shook her head at how silly and full of themselves romans could be, especially when drunk. She'd bedded Quintus one night ages ago and the man still believed she was completely infatuated with him.

-Here you go, boys-she smiled, placing the tray at the centre of the table. They'd already stopped their childish food war and cheered her appearance.

-Here she is!-Galahad grinned in her direction, his blue eyes twinkling with a boyish light not even his beard would have been able to hide-The lady of ladies. The best woman on the fortress. The-

-One woman you've ever actually talked to?-finished Gawain, chorused by the laughs of his brothers at arms.

Devnet smirked.

-Now, now, Gawain. Don't make fun of Gallie, at least he hasn't retched in some girl's skirts yet-.

The blond knights went bright red beneath his whiskers.

-I…didn't…It was only a little cough…-he muttered, mortified. The men burst into laughter again, remembering Gawain's finest hour of mortification.

-Don't call me Gallie!-snapped Galahad on his part.

-It's either that, or _Baby-face_-.

Bors snorted to her right-_Ugly-face_ sounds more like it-he muttered into his drink.

-You're one to talk. The only kids that don't scream in fright every time they to see you are your own-.

Bors attempted to smack the young knight with the side of his mug, but Galahad ducked before it reached him, making it spill wine on Gawain instead.

While Devnet shook her face and handed a cloth for her best friend to dry himself, a strong arm snaked around her waist, grabbing her by the belt of her skirts and pulled her on to a familiar lap.

-When will you quit playing with those roman fools and treat with real men?-Lancelot's voice was husky against her ear, burying his face in her thick hair. The knights whistled and snorted mockingly, waiting for some witty answer from the girl's part.

-I guess that'll happen when I actually come across one-she shot right back at him, with a self-sufficient grin. Lancelot smirked wolfishly.

-At this very moment, then-He leaned to kiss her neck, his brothers at arms cheering around them. Devnet lifted her eyes to the skies up above with a bored expression, pushing the curly haired knight away from the pale spot at the crook of her neck.

-_As if_-.

Lancelot bit at her earlobe with a growl, earning a determinate yet completely harmless slap at the back of his head.

-Changing the subject, before this two end up fucking or killing each other. Have y'all seen my child yet?-Bors was boisterous with the birth of his eleventh bastard, an adorable little girl barely a couple of weeks old that had completely stole the burly man's heart.

-Oh, she's a _lovely_ one-sighted Devnet. She'd been helping Vanora with her children today, and her friend had allowed her to hold the baby and put her to sleep-Her father did a wonderful work-she acknowledged.

Lancelot swallowed the wine down his throat, already with an inapropiate answer at the tip of his tongue.

-Thank you, love-.

She hit the back of his head again, while he chuckled. Bors shot the dark knight the middle finger, glowering.

-I said the child was lovely- Dev pointed out-Anything that _you_ fathered would be….how is it that the romans say? Oh yes. The spawn of the Devil-.

The dark knight frowned, pretending to be concerned.

-Why, love. Do not talk like that about our children-.

His statement was followed by a serious of childish slaps landing all over his head and shoulders, chorused by laughter all around the table while the girl cursed him with an almoust childish voice.

Devnet grabbed Lancelot´s mug and took a sip, looking around her as if searching for someone.

-Where's Arthur?-.

The knights shuddered, ignorant of their commander's whereabouts.

-Probably finding some responsibility to attend to, for the sake of not going mad. You know how he is-venturted Galahad, flashing a smile at a passing serving girl.

-Gods, I swear he's such a damn altruist it makes me sick-muttered Lancelot, retreaving his cup from the small brunette in his lap, much to her protests.

-Ya know-Bors pointed a finger to no one in particular-I bet he's fooling us all, and actually brings a different wench into his chambers every time we're not around to notice-.

The rest seemed to actually considered the theory for a split second before bursting out laughing, Bors included.

-Who am I kidding? The boy's a bloody saint-.

-Interesting choice of words, Bors-Devnet teased-"_Bloddy" _and _"saint"_ in the same sentence. That's appropriate-she sneered ironically-What of Tristan?-.

-Im right here, woman-.

They flinched in their seats. Devnet nearly fell backwards, but managed to lock her arms around Lancelot's neck as he caught her waist, straightening her back on his legs.

-Gods, Tristan! How long have you been there!?-she breathed, directing her gaze towards the dark corner where the scout sat calmly peeling an apple.

-I've been here all the time-.

Bors frowned-Really?-.

The tattooed man shrugged and slipped a slice of fruit into his mouth for all manner of answer.

Devnet asked Vanora for the rest of the night off, and stayed with her favourite men, joining them in their drinking. Since she had grown up in the middle of the group of sarmatians, she had been bound to learn how to drink, unless she wanted to endure mocks for her little resistence towards ale for the rest of her life. And after getting ridiculously drunk for the first time and having no memory of the night the day after, she was not willing to consent that again.

The whole time, she didn't move from Lancelot's lap, her hand absent-mindedly playing with the curls at the back of his head. Every few minutes he'd take it to nibble at her ear and kiss her neck, tickling her with his short beard. She would giggle and push him off gently, though not ceasing with their merciless flirting. The other knights weren't amused at all by their unusual relationship. They'd ended up growing used to it, though it was still confusing. One minute they seemed about to murder each other, and the next Lancelot was running his lips freely up and down her jaw and Devnet did not so much as flinch, almoust as if they were lovers, though everyone knew perfectly well that was hardly the case. Devnet would never go beyond that with the dark sarmatian. He had other women for that.

The men were teasing Galahad about a particular girl that had caught his attention now. She worked at the tavern with Devnet and went by the name of Prya. Devnet knew her. Though pretty, she was nearly five years older than her friend, and Devnet doubted there was much future in such relationship. Prya's mind was simply in another stage of life than Galahad's.

-Why would Prya be intrested in you, when she's already experienced real men like me?-smirked Lancelot, enjoying how his younger brother at arms gritted his teeth and cursed him. This time he ducked to avoid Devnet's slap at the back of his head, snorting into his cup with a grinn.

She instantly jumped into Galahad's defence, though more to get the opportunity to argue with the warrior that currently served as her chair than to defend her friend.

-Maybe _that_'s actually the reason. Any woman would run off to someone as sweet as Galahad after being with an arrogant idiot like you-.

-You didn't seem to be complaining last night-he muttered, nibbling at her neck seductively.

-Aw, you dreamed I was in bed with you last night? How very…insulting-.

-I don't really know what's worse, Devy-Gawain grabbed the tiny hands of the wench who was currently massaging his shoulders, smirking at Devnet-To bed Lancelot, or _captain Quintus_-he snorted out the name with clear mockery.

-That was almoust a year ago!-.

-Well, lass, you know what they say about bad choices, they follow you forever-.

-Well in that case, I pity your mother. She's probably been believing all this years she actually got rid of you-.

Ale kept circulating around the table, as well as the jests and the laughter. The drunker the men got, the merrier their moods became, and the dirtier and idiotic their puns; until nothing could be heard above their loud voices and descontroled laughter. Devnet herself drank nearly as much as the rest, stealing Lancelot's cup from his hand and emptying it before he had the chance to protest. She amused herself by teasing her friends as much as they teased her, her crystal clear laughter ringing in the air.

However, she knew she'd had too much to drink when Galahad and Gawain challenged her to a knife throwing competition and they both beat her at it. Leaving Tristan aside, she was by far the best knife thrower in the group. If her two best friends could actually defeat her, everything pointed out it was time to call it a night.

She returned Lancelot his drink and slipped her hand away from the opening at the neckline of his vest, standing on her feet.

-Well, my dears. It is time that I take myself home-.

The knights groaned in protest, clearly not fancing her leaving.

-C'mon, _petite_-slurred Gawain, pulling her hand-We're havinf fun. If it makes you feel any better, Gal and I will let you win this time-.

She laughed, grabbing the shaggy-looking man by his jaw.

-Dear, if you're actually saying that you can let me win, then I absolutely have drank too much already-.

She straightened herself and kissed each man sweetly on the cheek, throwing her arms enthusiastically around their neck, giggling. It was the love she held for them…but also the wine in her system.

-Would you like me to walk you home, Little One?-Dagonet offered, noticing her current state. He hadn't drank as much as his comrades; usually assuming the role of the voice of reason and responsability while the others got rotten drunk. Besides, the safety of the tiny girl concerned him. Any man with ill intentions might find it easier to take advantage of her considering her drunkenness.

However, she shook her head, touching his cheek gently.

-That's not necessary Dag-she laughed-Really, Im _not _as drunk as I seem-she added when he looked unconvinced.

He smiled, shaking his head, and leaned to place a small kiss on her brow-Very well then-.

She smiled at them and walked out of the tavern, letting her hand slide seductively over Lancelot's shoulders before she left. He slapped her butt softly when she passed.

She flinched.

-Why you little…-

-Oh, Gods be damned! Cut it _out_, you two-snapped Galahad.

The curly haired knight smirked behind his cup-Don't be jealous, pup. Im sure I can use my charm to convince a few girls on pretending to like you-.

Devnet chorused the men's laughter without looking back, though she did shout at Lancelot over her shoulder:

-It's not like I fancy you anyway, so I don't know what on earth you're bragging about, Lance_dork_-.

Once she was away from the warmth of the tavern, she wrapped her woollen shawl tightly around her slim white shoulders, walking slowly through the main streets so as to keep her balance. The ale had made her slightly dizzy, and she wasn't about to make a fool of herself by stumbling in the middle of the street heads first to the mud.

The sky was clear, stars scattered over it like diamonds over a rich roman lady's dress. It remained her of the stories her mother would tell her when she was a toddler, about beautiful goddesses that dressed themselves in starlight to attract their male fellow gods. Her mother said that the same starlight shone in a woman's eyes when she wanted to catch a man's attention, and it was that glow that made men fall in love. _A pretty story, but apparently my eyes aren't that shiny_ she reflected bitterly. Immediately she scolded herself for thinking something so foolish. As if she wanted the idiot to fall in love with her anyway. She snorted to herself and fixed her eyes on the road again, before she tripped.

Her feet lead her inevitably towards the stables. She'd practically grown up there, running recklessly between the horses' legs, unaware of the danger it supposed. Her father had taught her how to ride at the tender age of two; and by the time a year had gone by, she had already been perfectly capable of riding a horse on her own. She felt like there was some deep connection between her and this animals. They were, in many ways, very similar to humans, to a point were rider and mount could actually come to understand each other.

All the horses in the stables recognized her, and welcomed her by turning their heads in her direction and nuzzling their noses against her extended palm. She had tended most of them since they were wobbly foals, and had trained them as well. They followed her whenever she passed, with unconditional adoration to whom they considered their pack leader. Horses were the biggest and most important legacy her father had left her, and in away, what kept his memory so vivid within her. He would always remind her of an old sarmatian legend that said fallen knights came back to life in the shape of great horses.

She was deeply convinced that her father had reincarnated on her own stallion, _Cian_, to watch after his daughter even after his death. He was a magnificent animal; with marbled skin moulted with grey down his legs. His dark mane shone beneath the torch light. He had big and expressive brown eyes, and so full of wisdom and familiarity, she believed they were just another prove that she was actually looking at the eyes of her father.

-Hello, lovely-she scratched his ear fondly. The horse snorted softly and rested his head over her small shoulder. Devnet flung her arms around its powerful neck and inhaled deeply its scent. Leather and wilderness. Her father had smelled like that too.

She continued her round, caressing soft velvety noses, refilling some water pails when needed, and slipping a sugar cub every now and then. In the far end of the stables were the compartments of the powerful horses belonging to the knights. She sighted melancholically. There was more horses that riders. Twelve, and yet there was only six Sarmatians left. She'd seen so many of the men she'd grown to consider brothers, leave on a patrol or a mission, only to return dead. Fourteen knights had fallen, fourteen members of the only family she had left. The last to fall had been Percival. The hopeful look full of promise he gave her the last time she ever saw him alive still hunted her in her dreams, thought half a year had gone by. Her six remaining Sarmatians were the most important thing in her heart.

She rubbed the horses' heads, wondering at their bravery and loyalty willing to follow their owners to the very heart of danger. She'd trained them so, all though she would have wished a brighter life for such noble creatures.

She was particularly fond of and amazing war-horse, a Frisian, black as night with long silky mane and tail, and feathered hair covering its powerful hooves. Lancelot's mount was almoust as hot tempered as his owner, but with her, the intimidating beast turned as sweet as a kitten.

-How you doin', big fella'?-she runned a hand softly along his head and slipped and apple into his mouth-Good boy, _Vahe_. Good boy-she leaned and placed a small smooch over the stallion's nose.

As she made her way out, the torches started going out violently one after one, blown by someone hidden in the darkness they left behind. Before she had time to react, Devnet was swallowed into the pitch gloom.


	3. II) Not Romeo, Not Juliet

_**He ain't pretty with his hard old heart  
Second generation immigrant scars  
And he knows that this ain't heaven - no  
She's all skinny like a cigarette  
And he's the only thing - the only thing that she respects  
And he's trying to make it better  
This ain't love this ain't love this ain't love at all  
And she says...  
We're not Romeo - not Juliet**_

_**-Bryan Adams**_

Devnet's fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger she kept hidden up her sleeve, while she forced her eyes to adjust to the darkness around her. She wasn't stupid enough to shout _"Who's there?"_ and give away her position. Soundlessly, keeping her back against the horses' compartment doors she slowly crept towards the exit when a hand covered her mouth to keep her from screaming and pulled her away into the darkness. . She immediately relaxed, smiling against the palm that silenced her, as the shadow dragged her into a dark corner were the hay was stocked. She found herself shoved violently against the wall and the hand on her mouth was replaced by pair of all too familiar lips kissing her with red-hot passion.

She moaned softly in appreciation, parting her lips and allowing her tongue to toy in a slow, sensual wrestling with the other that was ravishingly exploring her mouth. In the pitch darkness, her hands closed around the hard muscles of a pair of forearms, moved north towards the head and finally sank with a satisfying sight from the man's part in the thick, soft mop of curls.

Lancelot's hands travelled down her hips, getting a hold of her firm thighs over the skirts of her dress, pulling her legs around his waist. He cupped her cheeks, flushed in the dark, and reluctantly broke his mouth away from hers, causing her to moan in protest.

-Don't stop-she pulled his lips back over hers, feeling she was tasting heaven. He grinned against her mouth, kissing her hungrily, as if he could not get enough of her.

-Wasn't I…-he mumbled teasingly, in between their fervent lip-locking-An arrogant idiot?-.

Devnet pulled back just enough to meet his black eyes with her own, a mixture of light brown and blue around the pupil. She laughed.

-You are-she bit her lower lip seductively-But you're also insanely attractive-.

Lancelot smirked and kissed her again, crashing her against the wall with his body until there wasn't even space for air between them. He moved to place a road of butterfly kisses up and down her neck; the touch of his short dark stubble causing shivers down to her very bone. Hands gently tracing circles over her hipbones, Lancelot buried his face in her shoulder, sucking gently at the sensitive spot in the crook of her neck. Devnet had to bite her tongue to stifle a yelp of pleasure. "_Gods, please let there be no one around to hear us. That would be so very embarrassing". _She giggled, though more due to the tickles of Lancelot's beard in her collarbone than to the idea of being caught.

-I'll_ kill_ that roman if he ever calls to you like that again-he growled into her neck.

-_Ha_!-she breathed, starting to undo the buttoning of his leather vest with a smirk-You're the biggest _hypocrite_ for saying that-.

-I know-.

They met their lips in another fiery kiss that had them out of breath but unwilling to let go in an instant. They struggled to find a way of catching some air without breaking away. It was an unbearable sweet agony. Her hands were finally inside his shirt, and she could feel the maddening rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. The muscles of his chest tensed beneath her touch. He groaned softly when she runned her nails over his burning skin.

She leaned to trace her way down his neck, tasting the sweat that layered over his pale skin as she pushed his shirt over his broad shoulders. He leaned his head back with a heavy sight of satisfaction, and she nibbled at his Adam's apple before turning her attention to his collarbone.

-Fuck, woman. You'll be my downfall-.

They fell rather clumsily over the pile of clean hay. It tucked painfully on Devnet's back, and she flinched a little bit, accidently hitting the knight's stomach with her knee.

-Sorry-she mumbled-The hay pinched me-.

He laughed hoarsely, pulled her into his arms and rolled so that she was over him, exposing his own bare back to the hay. There was something tender about that gesture that send a momentary mushy warmth through her. It was always nice when, even in the breaks of passion, sometimes the old Lancelot that had protected her like a hero when she was a little girl showed beneath the womanizer.

-Lancelot, if someone comes and see us…-she began as he undid the laces of her dress.

-They won't, love. I locked the door on the way in-he winked at her.

-How very thoughtful of you-.

The man pulled her gown away with the easiness given to him by experience. As always, Devnet chose to ignore the fact that he did this with many other women. That was perhaps the only part of his life in wich she had no intrested in sticking her nose in.

The cool air brushed against her sensitive bare skin when she laid there in nothing but her breeches and the cloth that held her small but firm breasts.

-Cold-she protested despite the situation, sounding almoust like a child. She heard Lancelot's hoarse laugh again in the dark, and the next think she knew, he was in a sitting position with her straddling his lap and his face buried inside her cleavage.

-I'll heat you up-.

Lust had her sighting heavily as she played with the knight's black curls, his head buried in her chest. He removed the cloth around it painfully slow, with a sly smile, and by the time his lips were playing with her nipples, she was definitely on cloud nine. Her nails dug in the broad muscles of his back, and she could feel his jaw clench due to the slight shot of pain, but it was a sweet torture in midst of the passionate swirl they were so very violently falling through.

They crossed no more words, then, save the countless times they called each other's name, sometimes in a breathless whisper, others so loud it sounded like a fanatic prayer to their Gods. Their consciousness, the world around them dissolved into nothing but that tourbillion of mad desire driven by a passion none of them could control. Finally, they crashed to the bottom of the swirl and were sent straight to a void of sweet oblivion, their sweaty bodies falling spent over the hay as their souls slowly eased their way back to reality.

It took them long enough to regain enough breathe as to speak, and even then the silence remained, each lost in their own empty mind while they enjoyed the aftermath of their coupling. Devnet traced lacy patterns over the chest covered in a thin layer of dark hair, while she was vaguely conscious of Lancelot playing with her long brown waves, twisting the soft locks around his fingers. The girl's head rested above his heart, and she felt how the organ so very gradually beat its way back to its regular rhythm.

-Why do we not do this every night?-.

Lancelot sounded deeply satisfied, sighting with content and lazily running his hand up and down the line of her spine. Devnet snorted.

-Why, dear, I'll give you a hint. It's got skirts, aged over thirteen and under fifty and…oh yes, there must be around thirty of forty others like it all around the fortress-she replied ironically. She sat up, smiling in the dark, but before she could grab her gown, Lancelot was sitting up behind her and pulling her back in the hay.

-What about the ones with swords, red coats and ridiculous names ending in _"ius"_?-he added, kissing the outline of her shoulders.

Devnet rose her hand to meet those thick black curls she so much loved to get her hands in.

-Hey!-she giggled-I've slept with way less men than you with women. Besides, I do it every once in a while and only with the ones Im truly intrested in-.

-So do I-his tone was playfully innocent.

-Yeah, the only difference being the fact that you're intrested in every woman matching the previous description-she turned and pushed him playfully. He laughed and rolled with her on the hay, causing her to giggle, squeak and sneeze.

-You're lucky you match that description then, love-.

-Gods know I must be crazy to actually bed you like any other-.

-Not exactly like them. You're a little bit… _more_-his mouth was on her neck now, causing her to moan softly.

_Friends with benefits_. The label still didn't quite sound right to Devnet, even after nearly five years of being caught up in their twisted little game. She supposed it was perfectly viable for a man and a woman to sleep together and remain simple friends, but there had always been something about her and Lancelot; and deep inside they both knew it; that made them more than that, yet not enough to settle for each other.

Unlike with the other knights, she'd never seen Lancelot as a brother. There was something strange between them, an intimate connection that runned so deep inside them some would've called it fate. It eluded all possible explications and manners of a normal attraction, wich was perhaps the main reason of why they couldn't stand each other, just as they couldn't stand to be apart.

She'd been fourteen when she started taking notice in the lingering glances the then eighteen year old knight cast in her direction whenever she was helping at the tavern, or practicing her bow shooting a few meters away from where he was fencing. Funny enough, instead of feeling intimidated of blushing like a silly little girl, she'd taken full advantage of that growing sexual tension between them. After all, she' d always found him handsome, and with each passing year she become more enticed by the thicket of black curls twisting over his brow, the growing whiskers around his jaw; the smirking, husky bedroom eyes so dark with michief.

She soon picked up the trick of seducing and flirting with him. She started sitting on his lap, almoust innocently at first, but then they began exchanging witty insinuations; until they reached the point in wich Lancelot could freely kiss her neck in front of anyone and no one would be surprised. On a late summer eve, she'd learned how to kiss her way to a man's own will with him; and at the same time fully realized the power Lancelot himself had over her. The spell they could cast over each other. She'd become addicted to his lips after that. And it quickly become quite clear he was after the same drug from her part.

She'd never intended it to go that far, though. She never wanted to go all the way through, scared that the stirring tinkles inside her every time they kissed and touched might actually turn into something stronger if she actually bedded him like all the other women.

She hadn't counted with the unwilling true desires brought to light by a single night of to many drinks, though.

Lancelot buried his face in her neck again, causing her to gasp breathlessly when the sharp hair on his jaw pinched at her collarbone. She could feel him grin smugly against her body.

-You just love that, don't you?-she managed to whisper. A low moan escaped her throat when he bit at the crook of her neck.

-I love the sounds you make-.

She loved everything about him. The softness of the black curls tugged beneath her chin every time he fell asleep over her breast. The dark glances he cast in her direction over his cup at the tavern. The times he pulled her into his lap despite her protest when he was gambling, just because he affirmed she brought him good luck. The low rumble of his chuckles inside his chest every time she did or said something amusing.

She loved being preferred over all his other conquers too.

She pulled away from his embrace with a smug smile, tracing lazy patterns over the hair in his chest.

-Mhhm…-his grip tightened around her hipbones, causing her to moan at the sweet pain he inflicted-Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?-.

She laughed, tracing the outline of his skilful lips.

-Well, sir Lancelot, Im afraid that as much as I enjoy your company, I must take myself and the lovely sounds I make to bed..._Alone_-she added when he opened his mouth to voice his intentions of joining her.

-C'mon on petite-he whispered huskily in her ear, his arms working their way gently up and down her arms. She sighted, shaking her head with a smile.

-Not tonight, Lancelot-.

-Why not?-he sucked at her earlobe.

She turned and bit at the end of his scruffy chin.

-Because otherwise you won't miss me-she pecked his lips and stood up to get dressed before he had a chance to protest. He chuckled.

-You're a tease-.

-Oh, I know I am-she tied the laces of her dress, bending her elbows in an uncomfortable position in order to reach the laces at her back. She winced when her shoulder blades were pushed together and let out a strangled sound of exasperation. Lancelot chortled.

-Here. Let me help with that, love-he heard him stand and step behind her, gently tearing her hands away and tying the laces himself.

-Oh my, this is unheard of. Lancelot du Lac, helping a woman _into_ her dress instead of taking it off her-her tone was teasing. His chest rumbled with laughter against her back, heat radiating from their proximity.

-Get out of here before I change my mind, doll-he slapped her bottom gently, causing her to giggle. She turned and gave him an intense kiss, making sure he was left wanting more. She stepped away with a childish laugh and sprinted towards the exit, ungracefully tripping over a bucket in the dark. She muttered every curse that came to her mind in both in Gaelic and English, jumping to keep her balance and holding her small foot with a series of muffled _"ow"s_. Lancelot burst into a fit of hysterics, promptly stopped by the landing of his own boot on his face.

-Fuck a cow, my _lord_-.

**Please tell me what you think so far, I'd love to know if there is something I should correct, maybe improve in the next chapters. If I captured the characters well, if it's interesting, anything you want to comment I'd love to hear it. Any feedback might help me improve my writing. The next chapter is slowly coming up, and I can tell you things will start moving more from this point on :) **


	4. III) Turns of the Wheel (Part One)

**Hello lovelies! I know it might have taken more time than expected. Also it turned out to be longer as well, so I'll split it into three or four parts (depend on the amount of words), so it won't be too much. I hope you enjoy it, and as always please leave your reviews, comments and votes so I know what you think. It's like seeing the story through the readers eyes :) And it serves as encouragement and improvement in my writing, so I would be really thankful. Well, enjoy !**

Up and down the British territory, Woads, Picts, Celts and the other free folk of the island were celebrating the turn of a new year upon their doorsteps. At Hadrian's Wall, however, Samhain celebrations were slightly altered. Life at Badon Hill was based upon the Roman calendar, and therefore New Year's Eve was not coming for two months yet. But since most commoners at the fortress were connected to the Britton heritage in one way or another, the pagan celebration was still carried out, though not as a New Year party.

Before her mother died, Devnet's family celebrated Samhain according to the woad tradition, that is, considering it New Year's Eve; or so her father had told her.

Perhaps now it didn't hold that meaning to her anymore, but the last night of October was nonetheless a time of turning tides and changing winds, of seelie folk leaving the Avalon to play tricks upon the unaware, and of spirits crossing over to the world of the living to either bless or torment those they'd left behind.

That year it would bring more changes than ever. Because this was the fifteenth time the Sarmatians celebrated the festival…wich meant it also could possibly be the last. She was finding it extremely hard not to mourn over the last fourteen Samhain with her beloved men and the fact that those times were coming to an end.

As she helped around with the preparing for the evening party, she couldn't help herself, however. Three boys, not older than ten, raced past her, nearly knocking her over a stand of games. The children's faces morphed before her eyes into younger versions of Galahad and Gawain, and the smallest one became a girl...her own eight year old image. They were running around the bonfires, trying to elude the roman soldiers whose clothes they'd on purposely set on fire. She remembered crawling like dogs beneath the tables, staying out of sight not only from the soldiers, but also from her father, Sir Aynor, for fear of being punished. They'd finally found a safe hiding place beneath a wooden stage from where they could watch the entire festivities without being caught. They'd spent the rest of the evening giggling over their pranks and daring each other to rob treats from the stands. The biggest change that Samhain brought was the name the town's people placed upon them: The Devilish Three.

On another Samhain, she'd taught Tristan how to dance. She hadn't even given him a chance to refuse, pulling the sombre scout out of his regular state of stoniness and forcing him to swing her around the dance floor. She'd been thirteen, and she'd only just began drinking ale. It made her tipsy and confident, wich explained why she'd actually dared to do so. The new beginning that Samhain was that of their friendship.

Very different had been the Samhain from two years previous. She had stayed in her room all night, in no mood for celebrating. She was eleven and it was the first Samhain in her life she spent without her father.

Besides that eleventh Samhain, the year she turned sixteen had been the one with the biggest change yet. She drank too much and danced even more and spent the entire evening with her hip attached to the one of a certain curly haired man she was helplessly attracted to. That that had been the first Samhain night she spent with another man…and the last she spent as a virgin. It was also the year in wich she firmly convinced herself the seelie folk had somehow stolen away her good sense.

Leaving the memories aside, she set down the basket of apples for the apple-bobbling beside the bucket of water.

-Finally-grunted the toothy old man who ran the game-Im glad you decided not to take all year to bring those damn apples, wench-.

Devnet crooked an eyebrow and wordlessly turned the water-filled barrel on top of him.

-I hope it takes you less time to refill this then-she snapped before turning away, her nose sticking up in an offended glare. Some things not even Samhain could change, and definitely old cranky Osveld's ungratefulness was one of them. The fact that she even bothered only reassured her believe that the fairies _had_ taken away her wits four years ago.

-Oh you are a _wicked_ one-Vanora chipped later on, when she told her the story-The man's at least seventy winters old!-.

-Eighty-two, I believe-she corrected with a grin.

-Devnet!-.

-C'mon, Van. He deserved it!-she picked little Nine up to clean her marmalade-stained face-Besides, I was only helping out of the kindness of my heart. A simple thank-you would've done it, and it would have saved him much more breath. At his age, it is not something he can spend lightly-her eyes twinkled with malice.

-The poor old brute only has nasty words and frustrated sexual fantasies to amuse himself with, let him be-.

Devnet snorted.

-Please, I doubt that his _Antiqueness_ has had an erection in the last twenty years-.

-What's an erection?-Nine chipped, putting the flowers she'd collected in Devnet's hair. She cast an eye in the child's mother direction, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

-A lot of handwork, dear-the auburn haired woman didn't even lift her face from the small basket she was stuffing with sweet treats; as if used to that kind of questions.

-Like…a toy?-Nine's eyes seemed to bulge out of her pretty little face-I want one too!-.

Devnet laughed and placed the girl back on the ground, pecking at her nose slightly.

-You'll have to wait till you're older to play with one of those, sweetie-replied Vanora, becoming her daughter to approach and kiss her cheek before running off.

-I am sure Bors would be _thrilled_ with the prospect-laughed Devnet, taking a sit beside her friend and starting to mend a shirt Gawain had asked her to fix. Vanora sneered.

-You're probably right. Oh, well-she gave an overdramatic sight, trying to stifle a smile-He can't expect any less considering the creature has ten brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, it is a family thing-.

-You said so, not me-.

Vanora chortled, giving the last touch to her family's small offering to the spirits of the other World, so they would bring them good luck the coming year.

-Now I'll have to find a place to put this where none of my children will reach it, or the seelie will find themselves with a basket full of crumps-she stepped on a chair to leave the present on top of a shelf-Anyway, going back to the apple subject. Will you be throwing a peel over your shoulder tonight?-.

Devnet snorted, shaking her head with amusement.

-To see what shape it falls in and know the first letter of my future husband's name? What good is a letter to me? That hardly reveals anything at all. No, I don't believe in such stupidity. _Ouch_!-she flinched when she pinched her finger with a needle. A round red blood drop popped over her skin and she sucked at the wound.

Vanora crooked and eyebrow, glancing at her for a moment with a strange smile, as if she knew something she wasn't supposed to and then turned back to her work.

-Look on the bright side, Devy, There are only very few male names of people you might know that start with an _"L"_-.

Her grip slipped and the needle went right through her fingertip again, causing her to yelp in both pain and surprised.

-_What ish thad shoupposhe do mean?_-she mumbled with her finger between her teeth.

-Honey, men might be so blind sometimes they wouldn't see a mountain _even_ if they were standing a top of it. But I am not. All that staring and kissing and fuss are not mere idle flirting. That is not how he plays, anyway-.

Devnet almoust choked in her own bemused laughter.

-Van, _please_! The very idea of it insults me! Besides, since when does a little bit of innocent flirting lead to marriage?-.

-You call that _innocent_? My, I really do not want to know the details of what you and that man do when you actually get dirty-.

Devnet wisely choose not to answer that remark.

When she got back to the headquarters late in the afternoon, she was alarmed to find a small escort of roman soldiers who bore an unknown uniform to her. Her feet froze momentarily, staring at the men in awe. It could only mean one thing. A message from Rome.

Panic filled her insides. They were ordering the knights to a mission, and if the instructions were sent straight from the heart of the Empire, it could only mean it was something of vital importance…and deadly dangerous.

With a scream caught up in her throat, she raced inside, faster than the shadow of a ghost. The door to the Round Table opened just as she reached for the knob, making her stumble inside and nearly knocking a man in a purple robe to the floor.

The roman moved one step back and stared at her with a startled expression. Devnet tilted her head sideways like a hunted dear. The roman seemed to snap back into character and with an arrogant tug at his robe, pushed her aside and stepped out of the room.

She turned to the men just as they erupted into cheers and laughter and shouts so loud she felt trapped inside an enormous cave.

-Wh-what happened? Who….-her words trailed off in confusion.

Galahad stood abruptly and raced around the table towards her. He pulled her into an ecstatic hug, crushing her ribs painfully over her lungs. He swirled her in the air, laughing like a child. Devnet burst out crying unexpectedly, joy pouring out of her eyes in tears. She didn't have a clue of what was going on, but she'd never seen her almoust twin as happy as he was right now.

\- _Doç sòrre, Doç sòrre_-Galahad kept repeating in her ear, his voice hoarse with emotion. Devnet's heart burst with tenderness. The words were in his mother tongue; she knew what they meant. _"Sweet sister, sweet sister"_. She clung to him, hiccupping in a mixture of sobs and laughter.

Gawain joined the hug from behind, and she found herself squeezed between the two men drunk in euphoria. The blond knight took her face between his hands. His blue eyes twinkled with such happiness as she'd never seen before, despite him being forever cheerful.

-We're going home, Devy!-he exclaimed. His hands were actually trembling against her cheeks. Out of nowhere, he leaned over and pressed his lips against hers for a moment, before breaking away with a gleeful glimmer over his face. She didn't even react to the kiss.

His words had fallen over her like a hammer.

-_What!?-_she turned to Arthur, demanding and explanation, holding back the excitement as if expecting to have understood wrong and not wanting to get her hopes up over nothing. But the commander was smiling. It was the first smile free of melancholy and exhaustion she'd seen in his face for years.

-A letter from Rome arrived early this morning. My superiors have notified me that a very important man of the roman church, Bishop Germanus, is on his way to Britain, and should reach Hadrian's Wall in a matter of weeks-.

She felt even more lost than before.

-So?-.

Arthur's smile widened.

-This man's visit is no ordinary revision. He brings with him my knights' discharge papers-.

Devnet heart froze with emotion. She felt struck by a lighting of illuminated joy for the words she heard. After fifteen years of forced servitude to an empire they did not belong to…She screamed like a little girl and flung herself back in between Galahad and Gawain, who twirled around with her pressed between their chests, singing ridiculously childish songs.

She squeezed her way out and stumbled over to hug Dagonet, whom as usual picked her up into a giant's hug and kissed her forehead fondly. She cried in his neck, smiled through the tears and kissed his rough cheek, her eyes not leaving his calm green gaze.

Then runned to Bors, who actually grabbed her with one arm around his waist and threw her over his shoulder as he did when he got tired of her teasing, slapping her behind softly and jumping, causing her to yelp and laugh and cry above his almoust maniac laugh.

-Fine, fine!-she managed to say between giggles-Put me down!-for once, he did as he asked, and held her face as Gawain had.

-Please don't kiss me too-she joked.

-Nah…Nah-Bors shook his head and smiled fondly at her-Im just awfully fond of you, kid, even though you're a damn pain in my arse-.

She laughed and slapped the side of his head goofily.

-Go on, you fool. I believe you have a woman, and eleven children to tell the good news to-.

Bors let her face go, now looking at the door.

-Why you're right-he muttered, and then he smiled and shouted at the top of his lungs-I'VE GOT TO TELL VANORA SHE'LL HAVE A FREE MAN FROM NOW ON!"-.

Behind her, the knights were hugging each other, clasping each other's shoulders; shouting and cheering and laughing as if nothing could be wrong in the world.

Her hug with Tristan was silent and much shorter; but the intensity in it made her neck hurt, and she knew he was just as happy. She kissed his cheek and smiled at him…and he smiled back and hugged her again. That was all. That was more than enough.

And then Lancelot was behind the scout, smiling at her, and she reached her hand out for him to take. He pulled her softly out of Tristan's arms and bent in an almoust theatrical bow, kissing her knuckles with a playful smirk shining in his dark eyes. She laughed and pulled him in to a hug, closing her eyes and burying her face on his neck, inhaling deeply the scent she was most fond of.

-It feels like it was only yesterday that you said I could ride with you so I wouldn't stay behind. I can't believe that was fifteen years ago-she whispered. Tears now rolled silently down her face, but her smile was as big as ever.

He laughed at the memory of the stubborn five year old girl he'd pulled to sit in front of him in the saddle. There were dimples on his cheeks as he pulled away slightly to look at the face that memory had become.

-I know-his voice was husky, and yet filled with tenderness. Devnet beamed at him, her heart swelling with the powerful emotions he stirred inside her. Beyond the fights, beyond the sex, above everything else; this was the man she held closest, not to her heart, but to her very soul.

She hugged him again and placed a friendly kiss behind his ear half hidden beneath the curls before he put her down. To her surprise, he returned the gesture by landing his own lips on her forehead, and they seemed to linger a bit before he gave her one last smile and walked to join the rest of his brothers at arms.

She quietly moved to stand beside Arthur, lacing her arms around his own and smiling with pride and hopefulness at the men in front of them.

They'd endured all of it together. The pain, the loss, the worry. Fifteen years ago, this six and other fourteen had come to her and Arthur's solitary life, feeling it with bonds and a purpose. To see them back home. And now finally they were getting back what should have never been taken away from them. Freedom. And no one deserved it better than them.

-This is truly Samhain, the time for new beginnings, and change-she whispered to her friend, resting her head against the cold metal of his chainmail-I sense good things coming this way, Arthur-.

He patted her hand fondly.

-Yes, Little One. I believe they are-.

There was still much to be done before relaxing to the merriness of the festivity at night. Devnet was kept running up, down and sideways all over the village following and endless list of errands, favours and obligations that had to be done before night fall. And life did not stop for a celebration, so there were still the daily chores too. Helping Vanora with her children's laundry for an instance. It wasn't much of an obligation, but the poor woman had already so much in her hands, preparing the tavern for the evening, Devnet hadn't had the heart to forsake her to the overwhelming pressure of other chores.

Luckily, after this she was finally free to go to her room and prepare herself for the party.

She was coming out of the laundry, a basket full of Vanora's bastards' clean clothes resting on her hip, when she saw Lancelot sitting on the grass a few metres from the building, his face turned towards the soft hilly landscape and the harvest fields around the fortress. A timid dusk sun was sinking low, shyly showing itself through the rain clouds to the west. Its light caught in the man's hair, making it seem almoust blue. She smiled and made her way towards him, taking a sit beside him and putting the basket beside her.

-How come you're not at the tavern? You should be passed out drunk by now-she commented, studying his face. His eyes were serious as ever, dark depths that held so much behind, but the corners of his mouth twitched into the shadow of a smile when she sat beside him

-We're all waiting for nightfall. That's when the real fun begins-he flashed a smirk at her, his eyes playfully mysterious-At night everything break loose and dark things come out to play-.

She laughed and nudged him playfully. They fell into a reflexive silence. The sunset light mixed with the shadows in the aftermath of rain seemed to feel the air with a strange tingling sensation, _"magical, in a way"_ she thought. When she breathed in deeply, she could smell dampness, and nature and light.

-Thinking about what you'll do once you're free?-she asked, closing her eyes to enjoy a soft breeze that lifted and swirled strands of her dark long hair.

-First I've got to stay alive until the discharge papers actually get here -he answered with a bitter laugh.

-You've been staying alive for fifteen years, despite my secret attempts to kill you. A couple of weeks won't change anything-she assured, a smile on her voice.

Lancelot didn't answer straight away, but seemed to think deep into his soul before whispering:

-I never actually believed I'd live to this day…-.

Lancelot's confession caught her by surprise. She opened her eyes to find him back with his grave mood plastered over his handsome features. Her lips pouting with concern, she reached out and placed her tiny hand over his.

-But you did-she replied softly, closing her fingers around the palm of his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze-You've survived woad attacks, and Saxons pirates, and fatal wounds and the damn climate of this bloody Gods forgotten island, as you always complain-she smirked- And you've actually managed to survive the hordes of angry roman soldiers looking for your blood every time they found their mistress in your bed. To be honest, you've lasted longer than what I expected-the last remarks were more of a joke in an attempt to lift his spirits. It seemed to work for a second.

-Wow, _petite_. Your faith in me moves me to tears-he replied with a hoarse laugh.

She stared at him long. She knew him. Knew what it meant when his jaw was clenched so hard it seemed he was going to break his teeth, and his eyes seemed to wonder and lose themselves in nothingness and his breath was tense because he was trying to keep calm despite the storm bursting inside him.

-You don't know what to do once you are free-she realised, her glaze still upon his soul-You've lived this life of loneliness and pain; and you've lost all sort of beliefs and hopes for the days to come-.

Lancelot answered her with a silence that meant more than words. She stared at him intensely, trying to figure out how to help him out of his own labyrinth but knowing in the end the struggle was his own.

-Won't you go back to Sarmatia?-.

Her question was almoust a whisper. She feared his answer. Feared he'd ride away from her and that she'd never see him again, never feel his eyes on her, teasing her, lusting for her, and looking out for her too.

Lancelot lifted his face and sighted, shaking his head at the thoughts of his long lost home. Sarmatia was nothing but a memory of never-ending grasslands to gallop across with freedom against his face; but that memory sometimes seemed more like a fantasy. As for his family, their faces were no longer clear in his mind. Sometimes he found he couldn't even remember their names without thinking hard. The only real thing from them he had was the token of the fanged beast a little girl, his sister, had given him before he left. He toyed with it now, between his long fingers, as he toyed with star-crossed ideas in his mind. He had things much more _real_ than that.

-If I did…-his voice was serious, husky. It bore to Devnet's very soul and she shuddered, looking at him, holding his gaze with the same intensity. Waiting.-Would you come with me?-.

She'd seen it coming, but the question shocked her none the less. She bit her lip painfully until she stated blood in her mouth. She let go of his hand and stared deeply into the dying day. _Would you come with me? _The question seemed to hang above them like and omen, and it was up to her to decide whether if it was good or bad. _"Yes…No…"…_

Could she leave the only home she knew for a man she hadn't even figured out her feelings for? At that moment, the bond between them seemed carved out in crystal; clear to the view, but so very fragile…

She looked at him, her inner conflict written across her features. His face held questions of his own as he struggled to figure out the many opposite feelings stirring inside him. They locked eyes for a moment but neither of them dared to say anything out in the open; because it all seemed foggy; confusing and uncertain at that point. They'd spent five years, if not longer, postponing this moment, pretending it would never come, because it was always so much easier when they didn't involve strong feelings. But now the events were rushing over them and pushing them to define a relationship they'd always been to reluctant to admit.

What they had…was it strong enough for them to go away _together_?

Instead, she found herself shoving her feelings back in the dark corner of her mind she kept them hidden in and smirking playfully at him.

-I've got to go up and dress myself up for the night. Would _you_ come with me?-.

She wasn't sure if it was relieve or disappointment what she saw in the man's dark gaze. But he too grinned wickedly

-Surprise me, love-he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, grazing her neck on purpose with his lips- But know that whatever you wear, I will still gladly tear it away from you-.

She giggled, pushing him away and standing on her feet.

-The only thing you'd find are all the daggers I keep hidden beneath my clothes to cut of curious little fingers like yours-she sneered, tossing her hair over her shoulder, making sure it caressed his face in the process. She'd washed it this morning, and the faint scent of dried rose and violet petals was enough to drive him crazy, as was the softness of the brown curls.

-You want me too much to hurt me or my curious _and skilful_ little fingers-he wiggled his dark eyebrows with a naughty glimmer in his eyes and patted her butt softly, sending her off-See you at Vanora's, doll-.

She left the laundry basket with one of Vanora's older children, Three before locking herself inside the sanctuary of her room. But even while she brushed her hair, braiding tiny flowers around her brow, her mind was restless. Lancelot's simple question had triggered off not only the familiar contradictory sensations regarding their peculiar relationship, but also many thoughts she'd tried to avoid nearly all her life.

Her first reaction back at the Round Table had been one of pure joy, but now, as she looked more into the matter at hand she realised all the possibilities implied in the knights' releasing.

Twenty five years ago; this very day had come to her father, Aynor. He had been rather young, not older than Lancelot or Gawain were now. He had survived the fifteen years of servitude to the empire. Fifteen years of pain, and blood, and death on an island carved out of cold stone and grey skies; so much different from the eternal grasslands he'd seen when he was a child. He'd endured hard-cold tragedy, the kind that leads any man to an emotional breaking point, not only by seeing men he'd ended bonding with like brothers in that cold inhospitable land fall and die before they had a chance to taste freedom, but also by all the kills committed to people he had no real confrontation with, people he had nothing against but an unfair contract made for him hundreds of years ago. The same people that his wife belonged to.

She knew that throughout his service, father had treasured the memories of his childhood: the toothless smile of an elderly grandmother, the warmth of a mother's cheek pressed against his face in the cold; the carefree laughter of brothers and sisters whose faces he no longer remembered clearly. But those memory did not belong to the people that were now somewhere in Sarmatia, believing him dead, probably, if they ever thought of him at all. But in Britain he had met a woman, someone far more real, someone he could touch, feel her warmth instead of just remember it vaguely. A beloved face he saw every day and he could not bring himself to depart from.

So, he had stayed, and married his woad priestess, and fathered a tiny brunette girl that grew amongst new knights of his homeland, new boys that had come on a cold autumn night just as he had so many years before. Would her knights make the same choice? Or would they depart from her, in search of a long lost memory, or whatever was left of it, like Arthur would do in search of his blessed Rome?

Despite her foul thoughts, she could hear cheerful music in the distance, rumbling friendly in her ears and she had to smile to herself. The celebrations must have already started. Not wanting to miss the Samhain bonfires and games, she dismissed the anxieties of future decisions and embraced the joy of the moment. Though times of change and turning points might be coming her way, tonight was all about the party, the fun, and the merry company. All of those she loved would be waiting at the tavern. Not wanting to waste any more time, she raced out of the headquarters into the night.

While she'd been changing into her dress, the fortress had come alive and turned into something mythical and exotic, halfway between a fantasy and a nightmare. There was people on every street, lingering in every stand, buying drinks, and good luck totems and small gifts to offer the Gods and the dead. Men were preparing the bonfires to be lit at midnight and burn away all the old and the bad of the year, so it would rebirth stronger and better and good from the ashes. Drunk laughter and singing filled the air, along with the merry songs that came from Vanora's.

**Glosarry:**

**Doç sòrre:** Sweet Sister


	5. III) Turns of the Wheel (Part Two)

When she arrived people had started dancing at the tavern, to the beat of a merry song. She saw her knights were amongst the crowd, laughing and grabbing the maids that swirled their way, spinning them in the air and then switching to another. The people span in a circle, clapping and stumping their feet against the ground. Some sang. The girls' hair twirled around them, they held hands in a circle and sprinted around the men. Gawain spotted her standing just outside the crowd, and with a giddy smile, grabbed her hand and pulled her into the fun.

Devnet was very small, wich made her a light dancer. She laughed as she took Gawain's hands, and they stepped side to side, their arms extended in front of each other, palm against pal and fingers intertwined. He twirled her around and then she spun towards Dagonet. The giant grabbed her by the waist with both hands and lifted her to the skies. She laughed, feeling her heart swell with joy and adrenaline. She felt like a child and a woman at the same time. She didn't remember the last time she'd had such an invincible, light-hearted, honest fun.

She danced, moving her skirts and shoulders with a cocky smile. She bowed to Prya, the girl that shared Galahad's bed. They placed a hand on the opposite side of each other's hip, lifted the other arm in the air, locking them over their heads and twirled around. Her extended hand was taken by a handsome Roman soldier with whom she danced the same steps she'd made with Gawain. They switched partners again, and faces of both men and women paraded in front of her. All laughing and all smiling. She felt high in adrenaline and happiness as she spanned around in small jumps with Galahad, her hands on his shoulder and his on her waist. In an impulse out of pure joy, she stepped on her tiptoes and pecked his lips, laughing like a child.

Bors lifted her and swirled with such strength she felt dizzy, but loved it as she spun, stumping her small faerie feet as she turned over herself. Still sprinting, she spotted Lancelot watching from a nearby table, a mug of ale in his hand and a smile. She jumped towards him, tossing his drink away and grabbing his hands firmly.

-Dance with me-she whispered completely out of breath, pulling him to his feet.

He shook his head.

-I don't dance-.

-Yes you do. The tough, serious guy image might work with other girls, but not with me. Let's dance-.

She dragged him towards the circle of dancers, and he grinned despite himself. She laughed and locked her arms behind his head. Everyone was dancing in pairs now, all the couples whirling in a circle. The women would spin towards the centre of circle, clap hands with the girl beside her and then whirl back to their partner. She laughed when she tripped and crashed against Lancelot's chest, but he caught her and grabbed her waist, and lifted her, spinning her in the air while he laughed at her happy face.

The music got faster, and they were whirling so fast their vision got blurry. Devy jumped, twirled, was lifted to the air always to fall back to Lancelot's arms, ready to catch her. The dancers started to jump around the circle, grabbing the person opposite to them by the hand and pulling them towards them. They twirled and moved to the next person, until they were back to their original spot with their original couple. Lancelot eagerly pulled her away from the man she was dancing with before she got back to the dark knight. He held her possessively against his chest and she laughed spinning in his arms. She stopped, her face mere inched from his. He had the biggest grin on his face; his eyes twinkled and he looked almoust like a giddy child. He lifted her up in the air again, looking up at her as he spun over his feet; and all the other men around them did the same with their girls. And then the music ended and everyone clapped and cheered. Devnet laughed, clapping her tiny hands until they went numb. She hugged Lance, feeling dizzy and drunk in joy and delight.

He pulled away gently and aimed to return back to his table just as a new song started. She stopped him, holding him by his belt. He turned to her and she grabbed him by the fold of his collar, opened to expose just a skim of his chest. She pulled him to her, so close their breaths got mangled together.

-Im not done with you yet-she breathed into him with a wicked smile.

The new song was different, slow and deep, like a flame building into a razing fire. A few couples stayed to dance, but most were too tired. Devnet wasn't. Her body begged her to keep moving and burn the energy boiling inside her. Lancelot leaned to lay his forehead against her, looking straight into her eyes with his piercing coal-blacks. His smile was replaced by a wolfish, almoust hungry smirk.

They fell into an enticing dance that seemed to push away the remains of the world around them. The music had dropped into a slow suggestive tone of husky drums and the lone cry of a flute. Devnet's arms were locked behind Lancelot's neck, his faced leaned against her and their bodies pasted together. She moved and swayed her entire body slowly, suggestively, following the silent, almoust mythical rhythm. Lancelot's hands were on her hips, following the seductive motion of her legs. He leaned into her, she leaned into him, immersed in a lustful dance that had them dragged into the burning passion that always seemed to stir between them.

Heat burned beneath the clothes that separated their bodies. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, chest to chest and so on. The only part they so very reluctantly kept away from each other was their lips. The effort it took them to resist from kissing wild hot passionately had them panting softly against each other's mouth, the caress of their warm breath enhanced by wine, making it all the more unbearable.

_"Just a small movement forward and it all blows up"_. They were treading on thin ice. Despite the flirtatious way the acted around of each other, no one actually imagined they'd actually ever been in bed together. The men could be almoust deadly overprotective with her; and if they found out they'd probably murder Lancelot for sleeping with their Little One, and lock her up in a convent

-_Petite_-he muttered soundlessly, out of breath; his words grassing her lips, kissing them.

She bit her lower lip at his husky tone. Lancelot held his breath sharply, his grip on his waist getting stronger; the smirk on his face getting wickeder. Devnet's heart was pounding inside her, its beating ringing so loud in her ears she couldn't even hear the musician's instruments anymore. She danced to the rhythm of a much more primal song that came from inside them, a song of wildly beating hearts, passionate glances and breaths so close to each other they could not even tell wich was wich. Their mouths were so close now, lips slightly parted, air coming in and out in short gasps. Blood burning like liquid fire in their veins. Burning. Longing for each other.

Just when she was sure they would not be able to hold back any longer, the song ended, and the whole village seemed to hold its breath. Lancelot's eyes were pitch black with lust. She was panting and flushed pink with arousal. The silence that suddenly fell over the people in the tavern, however, made her step back from him and look around, blinking.

The couples that had been dancing had stopped on their tracks. Everyone had left what they had been doing to look at the pair with astonishment and awkward, slightly lost expressions, not sure what to make of what they'd just seen. The dead silence weighted over her like a massive stone brick, and she felt like suddenly it wasn't her, but the world spinning around her.

And then Bors, Gods bless his soul, saved the night:

-Is it just me, or did it suddenly get _hot_ in here?-he roared with a teasing tone.

She could've _kissed_ the man. Everyone burst into laughter, clapping and teasing them with cheers. Some even started calling out to Lancelot, yelling at him to kiss her (some even dared him to do more than that); but she shook her head at the smug audience, holding back a smile. She couldn't have handled anymore of the dark knight right now without hell breaking lose, and the both knew it.

-It's the ale, you idiot-she called to the burly man, forcing a smile back to her face-Ale warms ya' up, and you, my friend, are so bloody drunk you won't be pissing straight these night…_again_!-.

Laughter rang around her, and she retrieved her peace of mind. The air seemed light again and safe to breathe. With a heavy sight she pushed her way to the counter, stole a cup from a man right under his nose and emptied it in four swallows. The liquor burned like boiling oil down her throat and she coughed.

-Woow-Vanora took the cup from her-Easy, Dev. That's the strongest wine we serve -.

-_Fantastic_. Because I intend to outdrink your own lover and end with such a hung over I'll have to stay in bed for a week-.

She hadn't been thinking; completely caught up in the bloody spell of Lancelot's black eyes and some bloody, stupid suggestive music. Damn it.

Vanora could see the frustration in her friend's face.

-Honey?-.

-Mhm?-.

-_Stop_ drinking and talk to me-.

Devnet pouted as she looked straight into the hazel eyes of her best friend. Like a little girl that wanted to defy her mother, she took another sip of ale from a second cup she'd poured to herself.

-I just don't want anyone to…-she paused and lowered her voice, leaning to whisper to her friend-I don't want the others to find out there is more to Lancelot and me than what they imagine. It'd just cause unnecessary trouble…-.

-Why do you think that?-Vanora seemed rather surprise. She picked and empty cup and cleaned it with a cloth-I believe it's only to be expected. You've spend your entire life surrounded by this men. They are closer to you than anyone else. I always knew you'd end up bedding one or two…maybe even marry one of them-.

Devnet let out a laugh.

-That is _so not_ going to happen. Save for Lance, they're all like brothers to me. I mean, I could've had and actual brother of my own flesh and blood, and there wouldn't had been any difference. As for Lancelot…I don't even think he knows what the word _"marriage"_ means-that was true-No, no, that part of our relationship is purely carnal, no feelings involved-only half true.

Vanora giggled.

-I get your point. Still, it shouldn't surprise any of them that you've shared bed with Lancelot. It was bound to happen anyway-she smirked-To be honest, they must have seen it coming. You two could light up the midnight bonfire with your little game-.

Devnet traced the border of her cup absentmindedly with her finger.

-It's not about whether they saw it coming or not. It's because they overprotect me. All of them. They all'll go nuts. You know Lance is not exactly the man you'd want near your little sister. I mean, the flirting, even some kissing they could handle, there's no harm in that. But if they find out about our _"friends with benefits"_ thing; Woads and Saxons be damned, forget about Rome, to hell with the contract. It's _us_ they'll go after-.

Her friend rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter with a hand on her hips.

-I _really_ doubt it will come to that, Devnet-she observed sceptically-Lancelot's their friend. They won't start hating him just because he got under your skirt. And they won't scold at you like a little child either. You're a big girl who knows what she's doing…I hope. If they get angry; they'll end up coming to terms with it-.

Devnet was halfway through her third cup and was already quite tipsy. She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus, as she snorted with and overdramatic gesture.

-Are we even talking about the _same_ group of men!?-.

Vanora sighted and leaned over to her, pushing the jar of ale away from the brunette's small white hands.

-Not that it guarantees anything, but it _is_ Samhain. Maybe the boys might be touched by a…change of… heart- she smiled, tapping the tip of her nose lightly with every word.

Devnet giggled a bit and offered her a lopsided grin.

-Not a chance-she laughed and hugged her best friend, knowing that at least _she_ had her back no matter not.

Special food cooked just for the occasion was brought out from the kitchen, and after helping herself, Devnet took a sit at the usual table, between Bors and Lancelot, laughing over funny stories collected around the group. Bors's bastards were constantly pestering about in pairs, in groups of three, four and even five, overexcited with all that was to be done. The children and the adults alike took turns in the games and trials, until Gawain fell inside the apple-wobbling barrel along with Six and Seven, and then their mother decided it was time to slow down.

When Bors finally convinced Vanora to join the rest, Devnet stood up, offering her chair after noticing how tired her friend look.

-Oh, I don't want to steal your chair, dear. I'll just-.

-You want find another spare chair, Van, look around you!-Devnet motioned around the tavern, where people had started sitting on the tables because of the lack of chairs-Sit down, I've got my own personal couch for this occasions-.

With those words she plopped carelessly on Lancelot's lap, smiling giddily. The knights rolled their eyes and Devnet mocked their gesture with a silly expression before bursting out laughing, her slim little fingers closing over the arm Lancelot had around her waist.

-DEVY!-.

Before Devnet had time to brace herself, Nine flung her tiny frame over her lap, knocking the air out of her and pushing her back against Lancelot with the force of the jump.

-_Whoa_, easy now, Miss Unleashed-she managed to blurter. She heard Lancelot's stifled groan when her hips sank against his in a manner that could very much bring other activities to their mind. She nudged him discretely, sitting the little girl properly. Nine's grin was sheepish.

-Sorry, I tripped-her neck hunched against her shoulders like a tortoise-Sorry, uncle Lance-she added, peering shyly over Devnet's shoulder.

-Oh, don't mind _me_, sweetheart-he replied amusingly, winking at the little girl-According to _petite _here, Im just the couch-.

Nine turned back curiously.

-Why _do_ they call you _petite_, Devy?-.

They amused the youngers with the story of how Galahad and Lancelot had given her the nickname after her almoust none-existent high. It had been target of the men's puns since she could remember.

Between the stories and the joking, Devnet forgot about time itself. Her heart beating in unison with all of the others around her, feeling the fun and the happiness swelling inside them like a common soul, _those_ were the times she felt truly _alive_. Her ears rang with Bors vociferous laughter and her nose filled with the scent of little Nine's hair. She could feel Lancelot's breath near her ear every time he leaned over to talk. Galahad fetched more ale for everyone and Gawain was helping Eight chop her pork, wincing every time the boy tugged at his braids. Dagonet had about three kids dangling from his back and she spotted Tristan sharing an apple with a very shy Six. They pestered Arthur into kissing a girl. Nine declared her eternal love to Lancelot completely out of the blue, much to the amusement to the young man, who grinned and tousled her hair. Galahad pulled Prya into a dance, and to everyone's surprise Tristan offered his hand to Devnet and twirled her off to the dancefloor. Bors and Vanora shared tender caresses and kisses, much to their children's embarrassment.

Everyone was laughing, sharing, hugging, eating and drinking away the night fully dedicated to their enjoyment and happiness, in the warmth of merry company.

When midnight was upon the night sky, the whole town gathered around the pyre set for the bonfire. A dark haired old man, and an equally brunet boy approached the pyre hand in hand, one holding a torch, the other holding a chunk of carbon.

-Tonight-the elder's voice was clear despite his age, strong and full of life-Culminates yet another turning of the wheel of life, and the borders between the dead and the living grow thin before our eyes. The impossible shall become possible, and fantasy shall dance hand in hand with reality. Tonight, those who've crossed over, and those who stayed behind, will once again be together-.

Silence had fallen over the yard, everyone listening with respect and eagerness. People took a moment to silently reflect over that wich had passed, the good and the bad, the gain and the loss. Those who died and those who breathed for the first time. Excitement hang in the air under the spell of past memories and a new beginnings. Then, the little boy opened his mouth to recite his own part of the speech:

-Thus begins the new turn of life, rebirthing from the ashes of the past. Let us walk all together through the darkness to reach the coming light, hand in hand with the Gods of our fate! Samhain is upon us!-.

With said words, the boy and the man cast the coal and the torch over the pyre, and the whole thing lit up in a single explosion of heat and light, sending up sparks of gold and orange into the night sky. The entire yard burst into euphoric cheering, lifting their hands up in the air and clapping them together. Hugs and kisses where exchange along with good luck bidding. Devnet was hugged, pulled up in the air, kissed and tousled more times than she could count, and she was quite sure she didn't even know some of the people who hugged her. The bastards were jumping over her and the other knights, and dancing around their mother and father. Arthur and Lancelot were hugging and clasping each other's shoulders, jesting over something. Tristan had grabbed a passing girl and kissed her full in the mouth. Dagonet was hidden beneath the mountain of children jumping up and down on him. Devnet was pulled out of her feet and lifted up, sitting between Galahad and Gawain's shoulders. She yelped and giggled, waving her hand at Arthur with a queenly smile.

The more important ritual of the night was taking place now. It was believed that the smoke of the fire cleaned and carried away the bad vibes and forces linked to each person, so everyone would cross through a smoky pass cleared away especially in between the flames. Men and women flanked the entrance and the exit, singing traditional songs to encourage the passenger. People clustered as close to the fire as they could; some of them throwing old object symbolizing things past into the flames, others simply seeking it's comforting warmth and blessing light. Of course, the night did not miss the usual man who'd had way too much to drink already and his ass caught on fire. Only to be aided by an equally drunk best friend who, with the best intentions, spilled his own mug over the flames, forgetting that ale only fuelled the fire further.

When Devnet's turn came to pass through the smoke tunnel, she took her time, allowing the irradiating heat to burn painfully against her skin, orange with the fire's glow. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, concentrating on the smell of purifying smoke.

She danced lightly across the flames. It was like being in the very heart of the gods, sprinting and bowing her head to receive their blessing. The heat burned away her anxieties and the smoke cleared away to reveal what would come. _Metaphorically_, of course, because when she twirled out of the bonfire, the only thing awaiting for her in between the plumes of smoke was Lancelot.

She crashed into him, losing her footing in an almoust too cheesy way and falling straight into his chest. He stopped her fall with a teasing grin.

-My lady-he greeted her mockingly, his grip getting tighter when she tried to take a step back.

-Sir knight-.

Their faces were a breath away from touching, challenging each other with teasing smirks, tickling each other's face with their breath. Devnet stifled a laugh when Lancelot's lips graced hers, just as they'd done back at the dance. She smiled playfully

-You, my lady, shall pay for what you've made me endure this evening-.

_"Oh, Im quite sure I won't regret any of it_ "she thought smugly, parting her lips when he claimed them. She sighted contently, locking those deep curls greedily in her hands, pulling his face closer. Tiny ashes crumbled into dust in her fingertips. Their kisses tasted of strong ale and smoke. The perfect combination of fire.

Their feet stumbled somewhat clumsy to the refuge of a dark alley before someone spotted them between the clouds of smoke. They knocked several unidentified objects in the process, caught up in their scandalous affair. Devnet's only intrest at the moment was breathing in every single one of his kisses.

Lancelot lifted her easily and sat her on a barrel, pressing her knees at either side of his hips. Every burning touch, every breathless sight, every tug at his hair and every patch of smooth skin exposed to him drove him completely out of his mind. Shut him out of the rest of the world, making all of his five senses revolve around the smoothness of that tiny hot body trembling and twisting to get closer; the bitter wine, honey sweetened smoky taste of that mouth avidly leaning to his, begging to be kissed over and over again; the innerving smell of rose, and violet and smoke that emanated from her hair; the melodious cry of her muffled moans and sights lost to the back of his throat. Her image burned behind his closed eyelids, a carving of temptation from the very first day she'd become more woman than girl. The fact that she was in a way unclaimable, not only because of the other knights' overprotective instincts, but because of her own stubborn, volatile nature that was constantly challenging his; made her just more irresistible for him. Gods knew he was no saint, but this girl was his biggest sin, only because she was the only one he truly, deeply cared about.

A chattering sound broke the lover's effusive making out. Devnet jumped in her sit with a little shriek, looking around in alarm. She hugged herself to the knight.

Something meowed in the dark.

-Stay very still-whispered Lancelot close to her ear-I've heard cats feed on human flesh-.

She giggled, pushing him away and hiding her laugh behind the palms of her hand.

-Shut up, it _could_ have been a person-.

-A _meowing_ person?-he crooked a thick dark eyebrow, amused.

-_Shut up _and kiss me-.

The man leaned over, but before he could own those enticing rose petals, she slipped away like wind, laughing between the shadows of the alley and racing away. Lancelot chuckled, knowing she expected him to chase her.

-I _will_ catch you, you know?-he called after her tiny curvy silhouette cut out against the light by the end of the street.

-Then you won't mind a little cat and mouse game-she challenged melodically-Perhaps you might get that kiss in the end-.

The handsome man shook his head, his eyes lifted to the skies. He counted to ten in his head, and broke into a run. Devnet jumped with a little yelp of excitement, stumbling backwards a few steps before turning and racing off.

Thankfully, almoust everyone was still by the bonfire and the streets were clear, but that did not keep Devnet from tripping and nearly knocking off a centurion's head.

-Sorry-she mumbled, getting back on her feet and giggling over her shoulder. Lancelot pushed pass the soldier, knocking him down on the floor again on purpose.

She twisted between the alleys until she crossed beneath a stone archway that lead to the healers' gardens, where various plants and flowers were kept, not only for medicine, but for the simple beauty of them. The nocturne flowers liberated their scents to mix in the air with the smoke. Devnet slowed down, ducking slightly to hide herself between the bushes. A fair moon bathed the foliage in white and silver, turning her surroundings into an ethereal, dreamlike landscape. She could here Lancelot's muffled steps in the grass, following her like a shadow. She giggled, walking backwards as to look at his face. He was grinning amusingly.

-I think I've let you win for long enough-.

Before Devnet had time to react, he'd covered the distance between them and thrown her over her shoulder as easily as you could've tossed a lamb. The tiny woman squeaked and giggled, raining her fairy-like fists over the broad of his back, without causing any damage. Lancelot laughed, spinning around with her still over his shoulder, making her scream in delight like a five year old girl.

-Put me down_! Honestly_, Lancelot!-she managed to gasp, giggling uncontrollably.

He started singing at the top of his lungs, a random senseless song about a dancing trees and naked mad women.

-Gods! You are a complete lunatic! Put me down-she cried, twisting over his shoulder when he tickled her-You are insane!-she extended her hands to the grass beneath her; she could feel her body slip from Lancelot's shoulder; the man's hands struggling to hold her.

-What the hell are you doing!?-.

-What does it look like? Im trying to get away-she laughed, pulling her body further down his back.

-You'll just smash your head against the floor!-Lancelot stumbled backwards –Wait! We are…you'll make us…_DEV_!-.

They crashed down over the grass. Lancelot hit the back of his head against the floor with a low groan, chuckling with a painful smile and a silent "_Ow"_. Devnet pushed her palms against the earth and pulled her body over Lancelot's.

-Sweet Brigid! Are you all right?-she touched the man's temple, gently tilting his head sideways to examine the back of his head. She could feel a small, hard bump already beginning to swell. He chuckled, his eyes still closed.

-Talk about rough foreplay, huh?-he teased, barely opening one eye beneath a lifted eyebrow to look at her. Devnet giggled.

-That was not part of the plan-she admitted, kissing the tip of his long straight nose.

-Well, I can think of a few things you could make it up for me-he pulled away a handful of her hair and kissed her as slow as a rose's flowering, intendedly sucking at her bottom lip until she could feel her blood pulse inside it. She smiled against his lips, sighting with pleasure.

They rolled playfully on the grass, laughing in between kisses, leaves and flower petals mangling in their tousled hair. She ended laying beneath him, watching how his face hovered above her with a wishful smile, cut against the stars in the sky. Lancelot traced the outline of her face almoust tenderly, running his finger over the small group of very faint freckles on her cheeks. He traced the shape of her nose, stopping right at the tip and tapping it softly, like he'd done the first time they'd ever talked. There was something deep and heavy, yet comforting in his dark eyes, desire and tenderness playing an equal part over his expression. That something send shivers down Devnet's spine and into her very heart, making it jump perkily inside her chest.

-So…-she whispered-What is it that you had in mind?-.

He grinned shaking his head with a low chuckle at her joke, before pulling her to a white-hot passionate kiss. Her lips played teasingly a game of hide and seek with his, sometimes covering his mouth, others tracing lazy roads down his neck, or over the hair covering his jaw until she reached his ear. She pushed against his chest gently, straightening to sit on her knees right in front of him. Lancelot pulled her closer, biting at her neck gently. Nevertheless, she was sure there would be rosy marks there in the morning. She moaned softly in his ear, making him growl from the depths of his chest. She leaned back, smiling huskily. Her fingers closed around the front laces of the leather corset she wore over the dress and began undoing them with haste. He stopped her with a smirk.

-Oh, no. The last time I let _you_ do _my_ work, you ended up losing my twin blades, cutting yourself in the process, and yet it was _me_ who suffered the consequences when Arthur found out-.

-C'mon! In my defence, if _you_ had warned me beforehand how heavy they were, none of that would've happened _and_ the woad prisoner would not have escaped either. Besides, _this_ has nothing to do with that-.

He chortled amusingly, shaking his head.

-Why don't we just leave my chores to me, and you…-he took her tiny hands, completely swallowing them between his own, and directed them to the strings beneath his hips, his eyes gone dark with lust. He added in a low tone-Take care of yours-.

She snorted softly, her lips teasing his.

-You are incorrigible-she muttered, before they kissed again.

Only someone who had received the minimal woad scouting training at some point in their life would've heard it and known they were steps. Anyone else would've assumed it was just the wind between the trees. But Devnet had learned a few things from her mother's keen.

She opened her eyes in an instant, pushing away from Lancelot with a small gasp. The knight spun immediately, pulling a dagger hidden somewhere in his boot and protecting Devnet with his own body, holding the weapon suspended over his head. His entire body assumed a defensive position without even thinking about it, eyes scanning quickly all the odds in his favour and against him in case of a possible confrontation. All this in less than a minute, thanks to years of training and warring.

**As always, please tell me what you think ! ;) You know you want to *wiggles eyebrows suggestively* **


	6. III) Turns of the Wheel (Part Three)

A woad woman was standing a few feet away, eyeing them with curiosity. She wore dark clothes that clung to her body so they would not get in her way. Blue dye coloured her face and arms, and her coppery brown braids were held behind her head in a tight tail. There was a quiver and a bow protruding from her back, but she seemed to have no intentions of using them.

Devnet squinted her eyes, trying to match the woman's face with one in her memory, of a little girl.

-Brona?-she ventured. Lancelot lowered his knife, eyeing Devnet over his shoulder.

The scout's expression could have been friendly, if they had not been separated for years without seeing each other. Instead, it was only a stranger's smile.

-Devnet-she greeted-Might the turning of the Silver Wheel tonight bring good fortune to your coming days-.

-And might the blessing of The _Dagda_ and his lady, the _Morrigan_ fall over you tonight-Devnet finished the usual Samhain greeting.

Brona nodded in appreciation and then her hazel gaze fell upon Lancelot, suspicious and somewhat resentful.

-And wich of Artorius men, pray sir, would you be?-she inquired quietly.

Lancelot held his head up, not intimidated in the least. His dark eyes glimmered with danger under the moonlight.

-I am the one called Lancelot-he thought for a moment and then added reluctantly-_My lady_-.

Devnet decided to step in before the hostility between them turned into a real confrontation.

-What business brings you here, Brona?-.

The woman averted her eyes from the sarmatian and focused on her.

-He wants to see you-she informed bluntly-_Now_-.

Devnet's eyes widened.

-He-he is here? I mean, out there? I mean…now? I-wait, what?-she got tangled and confused by her own words.

-Yes. He awaits you by the edge of the forest-Brona explained impatiently, stamping her boot against the grass. Her eyes turned again to Lancelot, this time with disapproval-You must come _alone_-she emphasized the last word with contempt.

Lancelot shrugged sardonically.

-Worry not, lady-he replied with fake courtesy-I am quite sure she does not need me to escort her-.

-She has me for that, _outsider_-she spat resentfully.

The man seemed amused.

-I've been called worse. Is that your best insult?-.

-_Lancelot_-Devnet pointed out with an edge of warning in her voice-That is _hardly_ necessary-.

She puffed with annoyance, standing on her feet and shaking off the herbs in her hair- Take it to my grandfather to organise secret family reunions when I am in the middle of something-.

Brona blinked with fake innocence.

\- I _do_ hate to interrupt your…business-she crossed her arms over her chest-But he was very insistent about it-.

_"Oh Im sure you do"_, she rolled her eyes and shot Lancelot an apologizing look.

_"Do you mind if I go?"_

He needed no words to answer that either.

_"Do what you must, but be careful"_

She released a heavy sight and nodded in Brona's direction, telling her to lead the way. She kissed Lancelot's rough cheek gently before following the woad scout.

An ancient door Devnet had not known to be there until now got them out into the fields. The full moon was at its highest point, and the light exposed them to any kind of eyes, but there were no guards a top of the wall by that time. Everyone was celebrating. She trailed behind Brona, their feet trotting lightly over the grass and making no sound as they marched towards the treeline.

Excitement and nerves wrestled inside Devnet, making her blood ring in her ears like a drum inside her head. It was always like that when it came to the Woads. She was a stranger and that made her uncomfortable and sometimes even afraid, yet she longed with all her heart to forge real bonds with them at the same time.

However, she bitterly realised she had not been amongst her mother's keen for more than a few hours since before her father died. Her only contact with the tribe were the rare occasions when her grandfather decided to check up on her. And it had been fifteen months since he'd last done so.

And the Samhain atmosphere made the visit seem even more important and intimidating.

Entering the woods was like entering another world, one of ancient magic and mythical wind blowing though the leaves. Even this close to Hadrian's, she already felt like in a foreign country that secretly called to her heart. Mist crawled around the base of the trees, and she could feel the eyes of the Woad scouts over them, even if there was no human sign in the forest; like spirits looking for her soul. Her skin prickled at the back of her neck.

He appeared from between the leaves without a single warning. He could have been part of the forest, just another bush amongst the trees; as a spirit stepping out from the thickets. Her grandfather's mysterious face was a mixture of misty blue and a wild chestnut beard. And two eyes, more mythical than human, stared down at her with a solemn graveness that was out of this world; ethereal.

Devnet found herself face to face with her grandfather, and she felt no more significant than a pebble by the side of the road. Behind her, Brona had drifted off with the trees before she had even noticed her absence.

-Grandfather-Devnet greeted, her voice trembling with respect as she bowed her head gently towards the imposing man.

If Merlin was surprised to see his granddaughter after fifteen months, he did not show any signs of it. He could have been carved in wood for all Devnet knew, until he opened his mouth in replay.

-Child-his voice was neither affectionate nor was it cold. She supposed it was only to be expected from a man who barely knew her, yet with whom she shared an important blood link-It has been long since this place last heard your steps-.

Shame washed over her, knowing she had neglected her heritage and that Merlin was deeply disappointed with her, even though there was no hint of it in his voice. His silence was worth all the words in the world.

-I have been negligent on my family-she admitted in a faint whisper, not daring to look up. The woad leader's fingers rested beneath her chin and slowly lifted her face. His supernatural eyes never left hers. It had always been hard to hold her grandfather's gaze, but she endured it. Her face reddened with embarrassment.

Merlin, however, looked almoust forgiving.

-All shall pass in its due time-he said mysteriously. He had that innerving habit of saying things without explaining any details. It was like speaking in riddles.

-Let us walk-he breathed in deeply and signalled for her to follow him. Devnet realised the air she had not realised she'd been holding.

Merlin was walking away even deeper into the forest. Devnet fell in beside him, stealing furtive glances in his direction. She was under the impression that the man hadn't changed in all the years she'd known him. He looked exactly the same as the first time she remembered seeing him, and not a day older. It puzzled her, and for a moment she considered that the rumours about his immortality might as well be true.

She waited for him to speak first, not really sure how to behave around this strange man she was somehow related to. Her hands were clenched around the folds of her skirt, her eyes fixed upon the ground, unable to hide her nerves.

-Every time I see you, child, you look more and more like your mother-.

Devnet jumped when he spoke so suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She detected a pained tone in his voice, and for a moment fell terribly sorry for her him. Merlin had fathered seven children, of wich Aine had been the youngest and the only girl, so he had always been fond of her in a way he could not have been with his other children. Her death had hurt him more than any other.

Of those seven sons, only five had made it to adulthood, and three of them died before having children. Aine and Cerywon, Devnet's uncle, had given Merlin three grandchildren between the two, and both had died short after. Devnet and her cousins, Enyak and Guinevere, were all that was left to Merlin from his once numerous linage.

-Her face is blurry in my memory-she whispered shyly.

-That is of no surprise, child. You were a toddler when she died-.

-But...-she went on-My father always mentioned how much I resembled her too-.

Devnet wasn't sure if she imagined it or if Merlin had actually smiled.

-Yes, her beauty has flowered upon you as well-the magician sighted- Your father was a good man. He never permitted that her memory was forgotten. A loyal husband…But Im afraid that, despite his good intentions, no sarmatian can teach a child how to be a woad-.

Merlin turned to her, and offered her his arm in a way so unlike of him, Devnet jumped to a side, thinking he might be drawing a weapon. At the same time she realised how stupid it was to think that of him. Her reaction amused him, apparently.

What is it in my actions that men always seem to find so funny.

-Can't a loving grandfather walk arm in arm with his grandchild?-asked Merlin in their language, his voice unusually tender. Devnet accepted his offer thoughtfully.

-Of course he can, _daideó-_her Gaelic was a bit rusty and with quite a marked accent of Briton and even the faint shadows of sarmatian, but it was perfectly understandable. It suited Merlin just fine.

The elder emited a grave sigh. The sat on a fallen tree, contemplating the full moon between the outline of the trees.

-It is not a common thing when a full moon falls on Samhain-murmured Merlin, and he sounded surprisingly tired, though maybe it was just concern in his voice-I am quite afraid I am unable to make out its augury. My heart had grown unsettled, though-.

Devnet laced her pale fingers together, eyes lost to the moon.

-Well-she answered shyly-It is a common feeling on Samhain. Change can make anyone restless-.

It certainly did that to her. As if he'd read her mind, Merlin grabbed her wrist, as slim as a bird's neck, making her attention draw back to him.

-Do not feel guilty for wishing your men never received their freedom. Any man or woman is scared of losing their family-.

Devnet could feel her eyes moister with unexpected tears that rolled down her face like _"silver dew and liquid moonlight"._ Lancelot always said that, because the damn fool knew it made her laugh. Lancelot, she recalled, had always had an aversion towards tears. He'd wipe them away from her face the moment they started rolling. He said they covered her adorable little freckles.

_Gods _she realised with authentic panic. _How will I live without him?_

How could she live without _any _of them?

-It is not only that-she whispered breathlessly, trying to hold back the tears. She would not cry in front of this man-It is guilt for my selfishness, and fear of being left alone again, and cowardice because I am not strong enough, faithful enough to dare follow them east-she sighted-I can't even bring myself to visit Arthur in Rome…what kind of scared little mouse have I become?-.

-Is it truly cowardice to wish to remain in your own country, child? I certainly think not-.

She tightened her jaw.

-What holds me here, Merlin?-she demanded fiercely-A keen I do not belong to? Cousins I have not seen since childhood? A grandfather I see twice a year? Or maybe the cold, sad graves of my parents? Tell me. What kind of bond is that?-.

He stared at her, his hazel eyes forever wise.

-None you should care for-he replied calmly and pressed a finger over her collarbone-There is a reason that holds you back, otherwise you would not be as torn. I believe it is the hope that someday you will understand this land as your home, and love it, like your mother did. And deep inside, you know this land is heaven-.

-_Why_ am I here, _daideó_?-she whispered again, feeling lost and vulnerable, and as lonely as if the knights had already left-What bothers your heart so much you took the trouble to send for me?-.

Merlin seemed genuinely surprised by her question, and was that regret in his eyes? He rested his hand, tanned and scared, knobby from countless battle fractures, yet without a single stain of age. The act was almoust fatherly, and Devnet was starting to wonder if this Samhain would actually turn her life upside down instead of bringing slight changes.

-I…admit I am to blame as well for the distance between you and us. I am, after all, your grandfather, and it is not up to you entirely to build our relationship-he sighted again-Despite my absence, I _do _care about your well-being, child. I knew this Samhain would be particularly heavy on you, with all the turns that are coming your way. However, I wanted to warn you as well-.

-Warn me?-she frowned-Warn me about what?-.

The wildling leader lifted his face to the sky, allowing the skims of moonlight to wash over his face.

-There is change in the air, and it has nothing to do with the Sarmatians´ discharge, Rome's withdraw or the choices you may make in the future. Something comes our way, something that will change Britain's history. Perhaps…it is just and old man's hunch, but there is tension in the air. And I …I wanted to warn you, this might affect your own world as-well-.

-My world?-.

-Forces this big affects us all. I cannot tell if it will be for better or worst-.

Merlin's granddaughter pressed her lips together.

-I will fight whatever comes against me. We will all do-.

Merlin's face was sombre.

-Aye. That is what I fear-he stood-Take care of yourself. Child. And keep your loved ones close-he paused and then added-I shall be watching over you too, in my own way. You know, however, that I cannot cease to fight anyone who stands against my people's freedom, even if there is no real affront between me and Artorius's men-.

Devnet nodded. She'd always known that Merlin would never take pity on her men, just as she would not hesitate to murder any woad that came close to harm them.

-And neither shall I cease to protect them-.

She held her head high and glanced to her grandfather unafraid, holding his gaze despite its overwhelming intensity. Something flashed across those hazel, ancient wise eyes; something similar to pride, and he almoust imperceptibly nodded approvingly. After a moment of hesitation, Devnet stood on her tiptoes and kissed the man's cheekbone, were the skin was still uncovered by his wild beard.

-The Morrigan and the Dagda bless you, _Athair Críonna_-.

-We'd better hope they bless us all, by all Gods, we will need it-he replied, placing his hands on her shoulder and kissing her forehead-Farewell, granddaughter-.

She offered a faint smile before turning to make her way back to Badon's. But Merlin called after her.

-Child-his voice was almoust warm, and solemn-Years of battle have taught me, that no matter the sharpness of the swords, the aim of the arrows or the length of the spears; the most powerful weapon to win a war, is something much more stronger, and much more complicated-his gaze pulled away all inside her, uncovering her very soul, and she felt naked to him, not in a carnal way, but in spirit. And she felt closer to a power so much great beyond her comprehension.

-Love-stated the man, and the air around him seemed to tremble at his words-A fortunate union, an unexpected bond that goes beyond any sort of cultural divisions, might turn reluctant enemies into invaluable allies-.

Devnet eyed her grandfather. She felt a tingling in her chest, as if her heart understood what he meant, though the rest of her did not.

-Between the Woads and the romans, Merlin?-she hesitated to say.

-Between the Woads, and _anyone_ who is willing to stand against Rome-.

Something hidden stirred inside her should.

-_Daideó_?-her question implied all the others in her heart. He stared at her intensely.

-Child, despite your upbringing…there is more of a Woad in you than what you suspect to know-.

And then he was gone, in that particular way of the Woads that made it appear as if they were made out of smoke and wind. Devnet found herself alone in the woods, left with an unsettling feeling inside her. Her head was a swirl of unidentified ideas she could not make out from one another. Merlin's words echoed in her head, making her uneasy.

Trying to serenate herself somehow, she tried to organize her thoughts and the events rushing her way, while she returned to the fortress through the same route she'd left. The Knights' discharge. Her decision to go with them or to stay. Merlin's warning. And of course, her relationship with Lancelot. Because that _"Would you come with me"_ changed all the ruled of their game.

_Talk about Samhain, huh._

She suddenly did not feel in the mood for partying. She decided she'd just climb inside Lancelot's bed and wait for him to take their business from where they'd left it at the Garden.

She rubbed her face as she entered the knights' headquarter, smiling at Jols who was taking an opportunity to clean around. The halls were empty, for it was fairly early for the men to abandon the party. Some wouldn't probably even return tonight. She'd caught a glance of Galahad entering the stables with two girls under his arm, the three equally drunk. She laughed to herself.

Pulling the flowers out of her hair, she opened Lancelot's door and stepped inside.

The small white flowers fell to the floor, losing all their petals like a broken toy.

She heard a small shriek and the bed sheets pulled off to reveal Lancelot and some red-haired wench who tried hide her nakedness with indignation painted on her round little face.

For a moment Devnet simply stared at the couple, her lips slightly parted in surprised, not knowing what to say. And then something snapped inside her. Something furious and hurt. Betrayal.

She crossed the room like and exhalation to the girl's side of the bed.

-Fun's over, _Ginge_r, _get out_-she snapped, cold as ice and hard as stone.

The wench stared at her with contempt and sneered.

-Excuse me? I believe it is _you_ who should leaving right now, _sweetie_-.

Devnet rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the hair. She screamed in pain.

-Listen, you little _bitch_. You'd better walk out that door before I drag you off myself and throw you naked in the mud-.

-What on earth is wrong with you?-the girl tried to dig her nails in Devnet's hands, but she twisted and pulled at her hair harder, as if wanting to tear it off her scalp-Lancelot!-sobbed the girl.

The man sighted and simply rubbed his face, tracing circles over his temples.

-You'd better leave, Erin-.

_Ginge_r stared at him in disbelieve before jumping out of the bed, freeing her hair from Devnet's grasp, pulling her dress sloppy over her figure and slamming the door behind her with not a single glance over her shoulder.

A deadly silence fell over the room.

-Devnet-began Lancelot, but she cut him off.

-_Do not talk to me_-.

-_Please_, look at me-.

-I can't. You disgust me. Now let me make this quite clear. I never demanded fidelity from your part, but when you ask a woman to leave her whole world behind and run off with you, you do _not_ fuck another wench afterwards-she spoke quietly, but with no softness in her voice. Her tone was flat, her eyes clouded with fury. She would not lose her mind in front of this…this _man-whore_.

-I am sorry-.

-I don't want your apologies, Lancelot du Lac. In fact I don't want anything from you. Not anymore. How _dare you_ take another woman when not even an hour before you were about to have sex with me. I am not one of your prostitutes. I was your friend, not someone you just replace when she's not available-.

-I didn't know if you were coming back…-.

-I don't give a damn about what you thought!-for a moment she lost her temper, but forced herself to breathe and keep her icy tone-From now on, you don't talk to, you don't look at me, you don't even breath my way unless we're forced to. I am _done_ with you-.

A turning of heels. A rustle of skirts, a series of hard, angry steps and a door slamming so hard it made the knight's teeth clatter; and she'd walked out on him.

Devnet locked herself in her room, because she didn't want to accidentally unleash her fury over someone else who had nothing to do with it. She lit the chimney and dragged her chair, sitting and staring at the flames with her face carved out of stone. In complete silence, unmoving. Just staring without seeing, until the heat became unbearable to her eyes. She would rub them and the reassume her watch.

It wasn't until the sky was already greying the East that she started crying.

**Glossary:**

**Daideó:** Grandfather

**Athair Críonna:** Father of the Heart

**Don't forget to leave your comments !:) Thanks**


	7. IV) Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Hey everyone! Well, here I am with a new chapter, thankfully, it is shorter than the last ! (Don't worry there's still a lot to see) Only a few more chapters for the story to reach the beginning of the movie now. As always, I look forward to read your reviews on the story, wether to compliment or to point out something I could improve. They make me improve and encourage me as well. Hope you Enjoy!**

**I also want to thank -recey2010 for her comments on the story! Your enthusiasm for the story brightens my day!**

The others knew something was off, and it had nothing to do with Arthur joining them at the tavern the next night. Oh no, what had gone terribly wrong, in the eyes of the men, was the fact that Devnet pulled an actual _wooden _chair between Galahad and Gawain instead of occupying her usual spot on Lancelot's lap.

By the time they realised she acted as if the handsome curly-haired man didn't exist at all, they started to get seriously concerned. Did the seelie folk trade human adults for adult faeries as well? Because this was no Devnet they knew.

Just as she'd expected, soon enough the men were going after information, trying to get her to tell what had happened. When Galahad and Gawain approached her, she was shooting arrows in the practice yard, using apples as target, because they were much more challenging than the hay-men. Galahad grabbed his own bow from its place on the wall, took an arrow from the quiver beside Devnet and aimed for his own target. Gawain had pulled a stool to her other side, with his axe resting on one leg and a sharpening stone in his hand.

Devnet rolled her eyes and ignored them, pulling the bow string to her chin. If they were expecting her to spill out her guts openly at them, they were in for a big disappointment. She was determinate to ignore the matter until it simply moved on.

Finally, the men's patience runned out and they started throwing fake sights in her direction, hoping she'd take the hint. Brigid's sake, if they wanted answers so badly they could just ask instead of waiting for her to start the conversation.

_Men_. When it came to people's feeling they were completely helpless. The situation was getting into her last nerve and she finally give in.

-What do you want?-she snapped, lowering her bow.

If those two had been puppies, they would have probably jumped around her in joy. Instead they just leaned forward with greedy eyes desperate for gossip. Worse than old midwifes on a market day.

-We could not help but notice that things between you and Sir Jumpy Pants seem to have gone a little…icy-commented Gawain with a fake careless tone. Anyone who saw him would have thought he was just talking about the centurions' latest foolishness.

-Aye-chorused Galahad, shooting an apple down, walking over to retrieve it-So we were just…wondering if maybe you two have…quarrelled?-he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively in her direction, munching at his apple.

Devnet rolled her eyes again and shot another arrow before answering.

-What if we have? Lancelot and I fight _all_ the time. In fact, you are always complaining about it-she struggled to sound indifferent.

_Not like this_ chipped an annoying, love-struck voice inside her head. _Never like this_. Frustration washed over her. It was impossible to silence that part of her soul that was bitter and sorrowful. She tried so hard to act like the whole situation didn't affect her, but she had to admit it was proving to be harder than expected. Her efforts to avoid the knight as much as possible resulted in to her bumping against him nearly every day. Every time she accidentally crossed those sombre black eyes cold as winter, it knocked the air out of her, as she realised over and over again: _He doesn't miss me at all._

At least he stuck to the cold-shoulder routine and didn't even bother to breath in her direction. Ironically, she was thankful that he'd decided to respect the decision that most pained her heart at night. She forced those ideas out of her mind.

-Yes, but this is different-protested Galahad. He closed a hand around her wrist a little bit stronger than she would've liked-It's been going on for nearly a week now-.

-So?-.

-_So!?_-Gawain shot her an incredulous look-Seriously!? You two can't keep your hands off each other for more than a day-.

Devnet sneered.

-_Please!_ Just because I do not sit on his legs every night it doesn't mean we've argued-she waved her hand dismissively, pretend to find the whole situation terrible funny-He has other women-.

The last statement was meant to be humorous, but it just made her feel more miserable inside.

-C'mon, petite-a groan escaped from both men, and Galahad dropped his hand on his knee in frustration-You know what we mean. You act like you can't stand his mere existence every time he walks by you-.

_That's because I can't._

-_Fine_. Maybe we had a little…disagreement-.

-_Little disagreement!?_-Gawain's sarcastic tone was enough to express the idea without words: _"You call that a disagreement?"_

-Believe me when I say it really was nothing-.

-_Nothing!?_-.

-_Yes_, Gawain. Will you keep repeating every last word I say?-.

Gawain lifted his palms _. Galahad frowned at her, putting a hand on her small shoulder disapprovingly.

-Hey-his tone was reproachful-Whatever is biting at your pretty little ass is not our fault. Don't get out on us-.

-What's biting at my "pretty little ass" at the moment-she pushed her friends hand off impatiently-Is you two interrogating me like a couple of kitchen maids in search of the latest rumours-.

She held her head proudly and fixed her attention back on her bow and her arrows. She pulled another one to her cheek, the white feathers caressing her skin like a lover's kiss. She pressed her lips together and released the string before the sensation went any further.

She missed the target by a great distance.

Her best friends snorted, as if that confirmed she was lying. She ignored them with dignity.

-Do you _mind_!? I am trying to practise-she snapped resentfully. She must have looked rather none-threating because they simply grunted in amusement, rolled their eyes and stormed off like spoiled little children, muttering something about her stubborn woad ass.

At least she could breathe back to normality and return to her dark, depressing thoughts now.

But of course, the knights were far from done. On the next couple of days she was approached by all of them in every sort of different manners. Bors sent Vanora behind her, wich was pretty dumb of his part, because Devnet obviously spilled her guts out with the red-haired woman, but Vanora was not going to reveal a single word to her husband. Dagonet kept following her like a shadow, hoping that the _"no direct confrontation"_ tactic would soften her determination to remain silent on the subject. Arthur summoned her under the pretext of being concerned if this behaviour would affect the entire group (wich was obviously out of question since she and Lancelot were cordial around each other when required). When another week had gone by and Tristan actually had the _nerve_ to appear out of nowhere when she'd been on her way to the _restrooms_, she finally broke down, screaming in exasperations that she wanted to be left alone and storming off to the stables as fast as she could to hide between her beloved horses' legs.

Ironically, the only horse there she could find comfort with was _Vahe_, Lancelot's elegant black stallion. Jols had probably taken_ Cian_ out to the fields. Sighting heavily, she opened the horse's box and dropped on her knees beside its legs. She runned her hand up and down _Vahe_'s powerful front leg, marvelling at the silky softness of the coat that covered his well-built muscles. She gently untangled the hay from the feathery black hair around his hoof, humming softly an old lullaby. She allowed her head to rest against the horse's velvet black coat and closed her eyes with a smile.

_Vahe_ abruptly lifted his head and gave a low, pleased neigh. Devnet's body tense as if sensing danger and her insides went cold. _Vahe_ was that welcoming to only one other person besides herself.

Lancelot coughed reluctantly to catch her attention.

The tiny brunette lifted her head towards him, with no emotion to be read in her features. Lancelot's own face was just as expressionless, staring right through her. A tense silence fell between them, heavy and cold. It made _Vahe_ uneasy, and he stamped his hoof nervously against the floor. It was only to soothe the stallion that Devnet decided to speak.

-Yes?-.

-Arthur wishes to see you-.

Gods, the ice in his voice stabbed at her heart, though it was only fair to admit she was being just as cold. How could two people act like strangers who couldn't stand each other when only a few weeks ago they'd known each other better than anyone?

_He decided it wasn't worth to refuse other women_ snapped the revengeful part of her soul, hurt.

She stared right through him.

-Fine.

The air turned cold when she passed by him, repelling his touch with distaste. The longing for him once again changed back into resent. She did not look back once when she left the stables, but deep inside she reluctantly had to admit she wanted to.

She wandered if Arthur had sent Lancelot to look for her intentionally, hoping they would solve their argument.

She met with the commander at the Round Table, along with Tristan and Dagonet. Arthur wanted them to go scouting east, for three days. It was just the routinely mission: ride off, see if there are any Woads around the area, and drive them off, come back home. Don't get killed.

She left the room feeling secretly relieved. If Dagonet and Tristan were her companions, there would be somewhat lesser chances they'd start pestering her with questions about her behaviour towards Lancelot again. At least she hoped so.

The left that very afternoon, under the watchful eyes of their commander, from the top of the Wall. As always, Arthur prayed God to keep them away from harm, to bring them back home safely. He felt considerably anxious for Devnet, though he knew it was pretty stupid; his Little One, she was fiery fighter. However, he'd never wanted this life for her whom he considered his sister; instead he wished she'd lived safely behind the walls of innocence and lovely things. It was what she deserved, at least. But God knew she was as stubborn as will itself, and nothing would keep her away from his men.

-Praying to your God again, to keep them safe? Why would he care for people who do not follow him?-.

Oh he would've recognised Lancelot even if he had not known the tone of his voice, just by his question. How very much he despised anything linked to Rome, including Arthur's religion. It was odd enough he'd accepted him as his best friend. The commander could not help but worry sometimes of the amount of darkness living in his best friend's heart.

-I have faith that my God does not discriminate pagans from his own people. He is merciful and would not condemn the innocent-.

Lancelot snorted, placed his hands on the border of the Wall, leaning over to watch at the horizon. Without averting his eyes from the three riding figures slowly drifting away, he replied.

-We have ended many lives Arthurs, I doubt that makes any of us innocent. And as Gawain is fond of saying, your God doesn't live here-he smirked darkly-Only the Woads-.

Arthur sighted.

-You have too much resent lodged inside you, Lancelot-.

The dark knight laughed with gloom. His hoarse laughter sounded more like a wolf's bark than a man's chuckles.

-You can blame your Rome for that. What would you expect from a man whose life has been stolen away from him?-.

Arthur chose to remain silently, for, with much guilt, he knew his friend was right. Instead, he moved their conversation to lighter ground.

-As you can see, I did what you asked of me-.

Lancelot turned to rest his back against the border now, and crossed his arms over his chest, finally changing his frown for a smile.

-I appreciate it, my friend-.

He could see reluctance crossing Arthur's green eyes and he knew immediately what was coming. He wished there was a way to stop it, though.

-Do you mind if I ask why you wanted me to change your turn with Dagonet's?-.

Lancelot tried to look amused, avoiding the answer if possible.

-Why? Are you scared I've chickened out of scouting? Don't worry, Artorius, I'll go next time-he attempted to joke. But Arthur shook his head gravely. Gods be damned, was he hard to manipulate.

-I would never doubt your courage, brother, and you know that-he paused for a moment and then added the feared question-Does it have to do with-.

-_Yes_-Lancelot cut him off sternly, with no intentions of saying more. Damn, why wouldn't he just let it drop?

-But _why_?-insisted the roman, concern hovering over his greyish green eyes- You two have always gotten along so well. Why suddenly do you keep your distance?-.

_Because she hates me, and with reason. _Devnet probably hadn't even realised the look of hurt and betrayal that glimmered like tears in her eyes that night, but he had seen it, and it still haunted him in the dead of the night. He sighted like a young old man, feeling the weight of his mistakes on his shoulders.

-Trust me, Arthur, it's better that way-.

The least he could do for her was what she'd asked. Not even breathe in her direction.

Holy Epona, there was nothing compared to the feeling of the wind against one's face and the power of a horse's legs beneath them when galloping wildly across the countryside. A top of _Cian_, it was like flying; it was the most empowering sensation she'd ever experienced. Her body danced in synchronisation with Cian's pace; the wind playing with her hair behind her. Distances disappeared like smoke beneath the horse's hoofs.

_This_ was the meaning of freedom.

Tristan and Dagonet were mere shadows sliding swiftly in the border of her vision. They'd been riding all afternoon, over hills, through woods, across streams of cold white water splashing in every direction.

They camped at nightfall, afoot of a tree bending over the water. A light drizzle had started raining over them, but thanks to the roof created by leaves they managed to light a small fire warm to their feet and hands. They covered the horses with blankets and then ate in silence, enjoying the crackling of the firewood and the merry tingling of the water. Dagonet and Tristan were quite companions, but had the blessed ability to make their silence comfortable. Devnet didn't even feel forced to make a conversation.

Once the dinner was over, they arranged the night watch turns. Devnet drew the last, almoust near to dawn. The idea of waking up so early did not appeal to her at all, but at least she'd get the chance to sleep the whole night undisturbed.

Leaning against the tree trunk, wrapped tightly with her cloak, Devnet started to doze off. She could just make the outline of Tristan's figure sitting on a rock by the river for the first watch before drifting into sleep.

Her dreams were more like memories; of past scouting she'd shared with Lancelot and Galahad; in wich Galahad was always on watch, while, without him knowing, she and Lancelot were doing everything _but_ scouting. In those memories there was no pain, because there were no promises; only two friends playing to be lovers. But when Dagonet shook her gently to wake her up for the last watch, all the bitterness and disappointment burst without invitation through her door.

Cursing under her breath, she crawled off to the same rock she'd seen Tristan occupy before she fell asleep. She rubbed the sleep sand away from her eyes, and splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to keep herself awake. Who could stand to be awake this early? The sky hadn't even started greying.

Her eyelids were heavy over her eyes. She had to pinch herself various time so as to not fall asleep. Hours rolled by longer than what they should have been. She jumped; her eyes had closed again. She shook her head and rested her cheek against her hand. The stream flowed so slowly it seemed still, her reflection as clear as a black mirror beneath the moonlight. Her eyelashes were so long. She heard a practical voice inside her head _you can't even see your eyelashes, it's still dark_. Who cares? They were long none the less, and so, so heavy, so very heavy…

The whispered call on her name woke her up this time. Flinching again, Devnet blinked and tilted her head disorientated, trying to locate the source of the sound.

A rustle of leaves caught her attention from across the stream. Someone, a male's voice, called her again, and she spotted a blue face between the trees in front of her.

A woad. Probably someone she knew, though who? She had no idea.

After looking over her shoulder to make sure her companions were asleep, she slowly stood up and jumped gracefully over the water. A man sneaked out to meet her. He was young, slightly older than her and vaguely familiar. She tilted her head to side, trying to remember his face.

Beneath his short beard, the woad smiled crookedly, crossing his tanned arms over his chest.

-Do you not remember me? I am Driscoll-.

To that Devnet shook her head incredously. What were the chances of running into an old lover she'd assumed was dead after two years of absence in the middle of a simple scouting mission?

-I didn't even know you were still alive-she confessed with surprise.

The man shrugged.

-I've been scouting the northern shore for the last couple of years. I returned a moon's turn ago. I've been following you and your friends for nearly a mile, waiting for a chance to talk to you-.

Devnet crooked an eyebrow.

-What is this? I don't hear anything from the Woads in more than a year and then all of a sudden every single one of you wants to speak with me-she eyed him suspiciously-I really hope you are not thinking of restarting our…thing-.

They had never been serious, though quite close. Being involved with a Pict was so much different from the men in the fortress that she had never even compared it. The Woads had such a natural conception of sex. It was not disproved from wild, raw, lust but it somehow seemed more pure, more…part of nature, of the forest around them. It had been an amazing experience, but she could not imagine herself back in Driscoll's arms. So much had changed since then; and she had not forgotten he was also unpredictable and fervent for war in a way it was almoust disturbing.

-Nah-Driscoll scratched at his beard insistently, piercing her with his cold, grey eyes-Besides, for what I have heard Brona relate over our fires, you now enjoy the company of the knights of the great wall. Said she caught you rolling with a man so dark eyed he resembled Dis Pater, she did-he spat to the water to emphasise his obvious disapproval.

_The god of death? He does not look that deadly…_

-Who I allow in my bed is my own business; Brona can tell whatever she wishes to-she replied shortly, annoyed by the woman's instigating tales-Now, what is it that you want, Driscoll?-.

The look he shot her was grave, hard as stone and bone-chilling. Whatever it was that he would communicate, it was ill news.

-As I said before, I have been guarding our shores up in the north-he paused, as if expecting her to ask him about how the experienced had treated him. She did not, so he went on talking-Merlin informed me he visited you on Samhain, to warn you about changes of the wind and omens in the air and all that metaphorical bullshit-.

Devnet could not hide her shock at hearing Driscoll refer to his leader like that. Normally, Woads did not take Merlin so lightly, nor their own connections with nature and the spirits. Had Driscoll become even more blood-driven in the last years he did not even respect Nature at all?

-Yes, what about it?-.

-That…presage now has a name. Saxons-his tone dropped when he spoke the name, and he spat in disgust again.

Whatever reaction he had been expecting of her, diversion was certainly not one of them.

-Saxons?-she laughed amusedly. Saxons had been harassing Britain's coasts long before any of us were born. They had never been a life-changing threat, though. Merlin's predications had brought to her mind something much more serious.

Driscoll scolded her hard with those deadly eyes of his.

-Don't be _stupid_, Devnet-he snapped, ignored her offended glare- It is more serious than what you imagine. We are talking about an entire army -when she gave him an incredulous look, he frowned even more-I have seen them gathering up in the North. Their ships plague our seas like flies over a dead body. 'Tis why I came back, to warn Merlin. Thousands of them. All soldiers. Even and idiot would realise they intent to invade the island-.

Each and every one of his words stabbed as and ice dagger against her brain. Her skeptical smirk had dropped into a frozen expression of fear and vulnerability, her confidence stumbling over the cruel news of the woad.

Every man, woman and child in the island knew that if someone came across the Saxons and lived to tell the tale, it was either because they'd been protected by some upper force; or that Saxon had been grievously wounded. They were ruthless with those who did not belong to their kin; people forged by the hammer of war. They knew no mercy, nor any sort of compunction. What they wanted they took, and they would not hesitate to destroy an entire nation if they had to.

It was one thing to face the occasional plundering of one or two ships in one of the villages. She'd fought them alongside the knights. She'd been stupid enough to go and confront a man three times her frame and get a blow in the head that knocked her off for a whole week, but she'd survived, and fought many others since then. But she had not forgotten the terrifying look that first foe had given her before crashing her skull with his maze; a look so full of pleasure she'd been sure she was going to die. It was only thanks to Tristan's intervention that the blow had not been fatal.

A Saxon invasion would be their doom. Wich was why she could not believe his words.

Cold sweat layered on her spine at the memory.

-You _lie_-she muttered, stepping back as if his proximity recoiled her-You just want to impress me with your scouting. I bet you saw nothing and spent the entire time watching over sheep-.

She believed her own tale. She wanted to believe it so badly she did not even give time for Driscoll to answer, protest or deny her theory. She stumbled back and tripped towards the camp as if all the demons expelled from the Avalon chased her to claim her soul.

-You will regret not believing my warning, Devnet-she could hear Driscoll call behind her and she pressed her run as if his words could harm her-All of you shall be _doomed_ if you do not prepare yourself for war!-.

**Don't forget to tell what you think ;) It really means a lot to me *makes puppy eyes***


	8. V) How Knights Solve It (Part One)

**"Hey everyone! First of all, thank you to those who've voted and followed the story so far. Im back again with a longer chapter, but this one will only be split in two parts, I think. I intend to finally start with the movie plot next chapter, thought I'll have to see how it turns out. For now, enjoy this chapter. I remind you that reviews are really appreciated, just to know wether if something in the story needs fixing, maybe the way a character is coming out, or a detail in the story-telling or anything that you can come up with. And also what you do like about it. Enjoy !**

Since Devnet had promptly decided not to believe a single word that had come out of Driscoll's mouth, she didn't even mention the unexpected encounter when she returned to her companions, thought she was very sure Tristan knew it anyway. However, he did not bring it up.

The rest of the mission remained uneventful, and three days later they'd returned to Badon Hill with nothing to report to their commander, but a broken bridge in a village three miles south.

Life slowly went back to normal, like a grown river returns to its original channel. Devnet soon forgot Driscoll's news of a Saxon invasion, and she'd even stopped caring about her grandfather's words on Samhain. Thought her relationship with Lancelot was still a thorn in her side, she found her life going back as it'd always been.

There was plenty to be done with the cold season quickly aproaching. Warmer clothes to be made and emended. Grain to be collected. Stables to repair so they would stand against the snow, and animals to be fattened. Everywhere in the village people were running up and down as if winter was already upon them.

For the knights it wasn't any different. They spent their days helping around to lift heavy sacks, mending the stables or even watching over Vanora's children, always under the commanding watch of the red-head, Arthur or some bossy roman soldier who ended up cursed a thousand times a day and most certainly suffered some "misadventure" the day after.

Devnet found herself in the apple trees fields alongside many other women and men, collecting the fruit for the winter. She'd climbed a particularly high tree, and was perched on a branch like a skinny little bird, plugging apples and tossing them to the box below.

She was singing softly, without words and munching a rosy apple while she picked others with her free hand, when she felt a sharp pain at her lower back that made her drop the apple in surprise and look over her shoulder.

-I told you I could reach her-she spotted Galahad grinning with fake modesty and waving mockingly at Devnet from the foot of a tree a few meters to her left. Beside him was Gawain, rolling his blue eyes with and amused expression at her.

-All right, very well-she heard him say-I'll buy you the damn drink. But now, duck-.

-What?-Galahad stared at him blankly.

-_Duck_-there was a warning tone in Gawain's voice.

-Why would I do such th-ARG!-.

The man fell back on his ass, his hands clutching at his forehead were an apple had hit him right on the temple. He muttered a hundred curses in Devnet's direction that made a lot of the girls around him blush and the men frown at him sternly. Gawain was laughing so hard he had to put a hand on the tree trunk to brace himself, slapping at his knee like a madman.

-Fuck you, asshole-snapped his friend from his comely position on the floor.

-I _did_ told you to duck, didn't I?-.

-Shut up and help me up, imbecile-.

Clutching Gawain's hand, he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling slightly and holding his forehead. He lifted his face at Devnet, who'd gone back to her labour as if nothing had happened in first place.

-I'm gonna destroy that little bitch-.

-Oh I very much wouldn't. But that's fine. You never listen to me anyway-.

Galahad bended to pick up the apple that Devnet had tossed and leaned back, his arm outstretched behind his shoulder.

-Because you talk too much-he smirked, before throwing the apple with incredible precision.

This time, it hit her square on the head, and Devnet leaned forward with the impact and suddenly slipped. She gave an ear-piercing shriek the second she lost her support and her entrails turned inside out at the fast aproaching floor. Her only thought flashing across her mind all in one instance was that' she was going to snap her neck.

And then she landed painfully in the arms of someone who'd caught her just before she crashed. Devnet's sight blurred because of the shock and the fear and the hard blow to the head and the air blown out of her lungs when her saviour crashed her ribs against his chest to prevent her from falling.

-I'm all right. I'm all right-she panted, though to the one who'd saved her or to herself, she wasn't quite sure. Her body made a quick study of its condition and after reassuring there was no damage save some minor bruising, she lifted her head.

And felt like falling all over again.

Lancelot seemed just as surprised at her, blinking as if awakening from a dream. He was clenching his narrow jaw and stabbing her with those piercing eyes of his, full of turmoil, but not particularly cold. He lowered her gently to the floor, his grip still firm on her waist so she would not lose her footing. The spot where his hand rested tingled.

He seemed to be about to say something, but then changed his mind and merely stared. Devnet snapped back to consciousness and opened her mouth to thank him, without realising she'd pushed him away violently; when Galahad and Gawain came running towards her, asking her if she was hurt.

-I am so, so sorry, _petite_. I really didn't mean to aim at your head. I am a bloody idiot. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Please tell me you're not hurt-.

Galahad grabbed her face, checking for any serious damage, while Gawain verified she had no broken bones. She shook them of, overwhelmed.

-I'm _fine_-she replied shortly. Knowing she'd spoken too hard on them, her expression softened-I'm sorry. It's okay. Really. Lancelot ca-she stopped, blinking at the empty spot were the dark knight had been standing a moment ago. She turned just in time to see him storming off between the trees, without looking back, apparently angry.

Her friends followed her gaze.

-Oh-said Gawain, quietly-And I thought he'd already forgotten you even existed-.

Devnet bit her lower lip, shaking her head slightly, confused.

-So did I-.

She turned to pick the box of apples. Before she could take it, Galahad leaned over and lifted it over his shoulder, offering to carry it with and apologetic smile.

-C'mon, let's be off once and for all. Its almoust nightfall, and I'm getting sick of these damn apples anyway-.

Devnet and Gawain followed him back to the fortress under the silvery light of the lowering sun. Wind was blowing strand of her hair over Devnet's face. It was going to be a chilly night. The kind no one wanted to spend alone, lying on a cold bed.

When she arrived at the tavern for her shift, however, she came across quite an opposite scenary. Sure enough, the early autumn night was cold and a faint mist floated close the ground, but in the yard everything was light and laughter. Everyone was trying to fight the chillness in the air, and they found refuge in the warmth of company and celebration. The musician were presenting a merry tone, soft and fair, to wich a few maids were dancing sweetly. Torches burned warmly on every corner, and for once, all men had put aside their differences and joins forces against the cold.

Suddenly, Devnet did not fancy being dragged by the bitter coldness that had been hunting her for days. She'd had enough of it for a lifetime. It was not enough to forget the Saxons, Lancelot, or the decisions she would or would not take in the future. She let them _go_. Slip away like wind. There was no space for them in that welcoming orange circle that smelled of roast meat, smoke and ale.

She stepped into the light.

Grabbing a tray from the counter with a jar of ale, she went around the tables offering drinks.

-There you are, lass!-called Bors. She smiled and approached the knights.

-You men cannot last an hour without missing my wonderful person-she laughed, filling their cups. She looked around, frowning slightly with concern.

-Why, how come the glorious First Knight isn't corrupting you with his company? The night is too young yet to take a woman to bed, even for him-.

-Thought you didn't give a damn about him anymore-Gawain lifted his mug in her direction before emptying it in one swallow. The others imitated his inquiring gaze.

-Dearest, we might be angry with each other, but it doesn't mean I don't take intrest in him. If anything, just to gossip around a little-she smirked, picking up their empty plates of food.

Galahad sneered and lifted his eyebrows amusingly, shaking his head.

-Well-he said-If it's gossip you're after, you sure will find something-he looked at the empty bottom of his cup and then extended it to Devnet-Be a sweetheart, please?-.

The girl tilted her head slightly, frowning her lips with a snort.

-Sorry?-. She didn't quite follow where he was going with that.

The men lowered their cups, surprised she hadn't heard the latest rumours circulating around the fortress. Bors licked a few remaining drops of wine from his lips and said:

-It cannot be that you haven't heard a bloody word about it, girl. The whole damn town probably knows by now. It's all the women talk about-.

-Knows about what?-she looked at each of them for and explanation. A pang of alarm dropped in her chest-Is Lancelot well?-.

Galahad snorted.

-Well, _that's_ what it's all about. Whatever is going on with him, it impends him from fulfilling the…ladies' expectations-.

She must have misunderstood him. She leaned into him with an expression of disbelieve in her face. She couldn't have guessed what she had been expecting to hear, but it certainly had not been that. Why, in the name of all the gods, would Lancelot do such a thing?

She had to gain control of her face in a second before she showed the real emotions of excitement and Gods be damned a thousand times, _hope_; stirring in her heart

-You jest, surely! That is _unheard_ of. Do you really mean he…-she let the question trail off on purpose.

Gawain plunged his knife on a piece of bread from his plate and held it to his mouth, nodding.

-He hasn't visited any lady's bed nor taken them to his own for Gods know how long-. He nibbled at his food.

She blinked, unable to believe her ears. She turned to the others, seeking confirmation.

-Aye-Bors nodded slowly, as if he did not quite believe his own words-We realised around a week ago. Heard the serving girls complain and lament over the loss of his company and his…talented attributes blessed by the Gods-he cleared his throat-I am just quoting the wenches words, by the way-he clarified awkwardly.

-Really?-teased Gawain. Bors ignored him.

-Anyway-he added to Devnet-We put two and two together and realised it made sense with his recent behaviour. He'd been like a damn hermit lately, ya know?-.

Devy blinked.

-Are you certain?-.

Gawain puffed his blond bearded cheeks.

-Oh, very certain-he replied, annoyed- My room is right next to his, and it's the first time I've been sleeping this soundly for as long as I can remember. His activities normally keep me awake well past midnight. The fucker has no respect for his neighbours, I assure you-.

-I wonder what's wrong with him-Devnet muttered more to herself than to her friends, leaning over to pour ale in Gawain's mug.

-HEY! HEY! THAT'S ENOUGH! GODS _DAMN IT_, DEV!-.

Gawain sprang from his sit to avoid any more ale spilling over his clothes. Devnet snapped back. The liquid formed a puddle around the over-filled cup and dripped over the border of the table. Gawain's lap was completely wet. Galahad was rolling in laughter in his seat.

-Aren't you a bit old for wetting yourself?-he teased, slamming his fist repeatedly against the table.

Gawain shot him a killer glare.

-Shut up, you arse. Gods be damned, I'm soaked to my breeches. What on earth happened to you, Devnet?-.

She blinked, struggling to tear her brown eyes molten with blue from the dark brown puddle on the table.

-Sorry-she muttered absentmindedly-I have to…I will go…I will get something to clean…-she drifted off, walking as if her mind was elsewhere. Gawain turned to his brother at arms.

-What do you reckon has gotten into her?-.

Galahad pouted, shaking his head to make it clear he did not have a clue. Bors shrugged as well-

-You're all damn blinder than moles-.

The men jumped at the sound of Tristan's cup of ale placed sharply on the table. He dropped to a chair beside Galahad.

-Fuck! Tristan!-grumbled the cub-You've got to stop doing that-.

Gawain eyed the scout curiously.

-Whatever do you mean?-.

Tristan nailed his piercing hazel eyes, shadowed by his lanky strands of hair, on them, while scraping at the dirt lodged beneath his nails.

-Before this-he slurred in his usual low town, dragging the words in his strange accent wich made it even harder to hear what he said-I wouldn't have blamed any of you for not realising it. I didn't figured it out either until a few days ago. But after talking with Devnet, one would have thought you'd be able to put two and two together-.

Bors frowned and snapped him to stop going around things and be clear about it.

-You count the days-replied Tristan, taking a swallow of his ale-The answer's is right there in what you told Devnet. Tell me, how long has it been since Lancelot decided to practise celibacy?-.

-We found out about a week ago-admitted Gawain, and paused before adding-But we presume it must have been going on for at least three now-.

-Exactly. Now make the counts. When was the last time Devnet last spoke with our infamous womanizer?-.

The three men were quite for a moment. Gawain made the sums in his head. The other two just pretended to think, while they actually waited for him to finish and give the answer for them. Suddenly realisation crossed his blue eyes and his lips parted slightly, looking at Tristan with disbelieve.

-You wouldn't think that…-he trailed off, unable to say the words.

Tristan nodded, pulling an apple from the pocket of his tunic.

-I don't _think_. Im certain-.

-What?-Bors stared at one and then another-What is it?-.

-Don't keep us in the dark-protested Galahad.

Gawain ignored him still staring at Tristan.

-Impossible. They wouldn't act the way they normally do in front of us if they were having an affair-.

-The best place to hide something is at plain sight-.

Gawain pushed his chair away from the table, eyes lost in nothingness.

-Then they've been fooling as all for gods know how long…-.

-_Who?_-Galahad was impatient-Who's been fooling us?-.

-And having an affair?-added Bors.

-Lancelot and Devnet-.

-_Petite!?_-.

-With that man-whore!?-.

-Aye-.

Galahad held his head in his hands, trying to process the facts.

-Wait, wait, wait-he snapped, pulling at the strands of his dark hair-Are you saying that Lancelot's decided to practices celibacy because of his fight with _Devy_!?-.

Tristan shrugged.

-Most probably-.

The men were quiet while they struggled to deal with the situation. After what seemed a terribly long time, Bors stood up abruptly.

-I need another drink-.

-So do I-.

-_Excellent_ idea-.

She couldn't possibly have been _that_ blind. Granted, her room was at the far end of the hall at the knights' headquarters, but how could she have eluded such fact? Anyone would notice if Lancelot suddenly stopped bringing girls into his chamber.

At least that's what she purred all over Vanora, clutching a mug of ale she'd barely touched.

-I mean, I've seen him myself do so, thousands of times! How could've miss something so obvious!? Gods!-as if to scold herself for her ignorance, she slapped her forehead against the table.

-If you're trying to avoid him, isn't it logical that you lose track of whatever is going on in his life?-the red-head could not see why, Gods, _why_ her friend was being so dramatic over it. She wasn't even drunk enough to put such an act of tragedy.

-Do you think it's because of me?-Devy lifted her head from the table, completely ignoring what she'd just said-Could he be doing this for me?-.

Vanora gave the idea a thought and then opened her mouth to answer.

-No, don't answer that-she cut her off violently, getting on her feet-You know what? _Screw it_. I will not break my head over this puzzle. I-she picked her mug-Shall enjoy the evening. I'll have a very good time and a very bad behaviour-with a dirty smirk he emptied the cup in three swallows and trotted off to a table occupied by roman centurions.

Vanora sighted. That girl was unpredictable.


	9. V) How Knights Solve It (Part Two)

She knew she would not be able to look any of those men next morning, but while she danced for them, turning and swirling her skirts around her on top of their table, she didn't give a damn.

The men clapped around her, cheering and whistling like boys. Her hair spun around embracing her waist gracefully and caressing her neck. She stamped her foot against the table, clapping her hands as she looked over her shoulder seductively at her audience.

When she the world started spinning around her and she lost her sense of orientation, she asked Quintus to help her off the table. She pecked the man's lips playfully and then plopped into a chair another centurion had pulled for her. The soldiers were all over her in an instant, washing her with compliments and flirting attempts. Knowing she had them wrapped around her pinkie, she smiled sweetly, bagging her eyelashes with desire.

-Gentlemen-she announced-So much dancing has made me thirsty. Who could be so kind as to bring me a cup of ale?-.

The romans stumbled over each other to the counter to get her what she asked. Oh, she'd been dying to get rid of them. Not all romans were so dull and overwhelming, but Quintus and company were more than what she could endure.

By now, she was aware that she was grossly drunk. She saw the world as if from a dream, swaying slightly before her eyes. She also felt loose like a bird freed from its cage, but knew it was just the alcohol. She was no bird and feelings were no cage.

A stupid smile played on her lips. She started shooting lustful looks at a serving boy across the tavern, casually twisting her hair around her finger, when someone grabbed her firmly by the wrist and dragged her away from the tavern.

-What…why you little…let me _go_!-.

She freed herself violently from Lancelot's grip. Her wrist burned as she twisted it in her hand to get her blood circulating again. They were in the middle of a narrow street dimly illuminated. Despite her anger, Devnet's heart hammered inside her chest from something that had nothing to do with her annoyance.

-What the hell is wrong with you!?-she snapped. It was the first sentence she'd said to him in weeks.

Lancelot's eyes glimmered dangerously under the poor light of the alley.

-What the fuck do you think you're doing!?-he spat another question back at her.

Indignation washed over her, hot and infuriating. Who did he think he was to talk to her like that?

-What, you don't even breathe in my direction for Gods now how long and now you've got the divine right to enquire about the activities in my life? It's none of your damn business-.

-Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart. Don't you dare blame this on me-he pointed a finger at her. His curls cast shadows over his pale face, making him seem almoust ghostly. Dis Pater, she recalled for a moment-I was just doing what you so clearly asked of me. Not even breathe in your direction. You started this-.

-_You_ were the one with a _whore in his bed_, right after you me asked to go away with you-she replied with venom.

Lancelot growled at her, knowing he had no reply to the truth. Instead he pierced through her with his gaze, burning passionately over her soul. It clouded her thinking.

When he stepped closer, Devnet could smell the sour scent in his breath. She backed against the wall.

-You're drunk-.

-So are you, and more than me-.

His ragged breathe so hot over her neck made her knees quiver like butter. She bit her lip when one of his calloused hands cupped a side of her face, sliding a finger over her cheek. Her skin remembered his touch, and she felt needles all over her nerves. Her nails dug inside the wood at her back. Her body ached to give in to him so badly. Lancelot's thumb lingered over the faint mantle of freckles on her face.

-I miss my fairy footprints-he whispered. Oh, how much she loved it when he called her freckles that. The knight leaned closer, his lips seeking her ear and whispered with a dark voice tainted with pain and regret-Forgive me-. He kissed her cheek then, gentle as the touch of an angel. Devnet's heart threatened to leap out of her chest.

So vulnerable, so hurt, so preciously lodged inside his heart. He'd tried, Gods forgive him. He had. But another day away from her beauty and he would certainly go mad. And when he saw her dancing for those drooling dogs, he could not bear it any longer. And now she was so close, all he could smell was the flowery scent of her hair. His _petite_, with her tiny curves and her minimum height and her bird-like bones.

She was worth all the women he'd ever laid with. Deep inside, he'd always known that.

-Gods curse me for this-.

Lancelot should not have kissed her, but he did. She did not want to response to him, but she was. She did not want to surrender, but she gave in. And Brigid's sake, was it sweet. She was helpless, because he'd stolen her first kiss on a summer night so many years ago, and he'd locked her in the spell of his lips and there was no way out.

She clung to him, cursing herself when she felt the warm trail of tears falling down her face. He kissed them away, holding her against him with no intention of letting go. By all the horse lords was she intoxicating to him.

-I can't stand this anymore, Dev-he groaned, searching her lips like a beggar searches for bread-It's foolish-.

She forced herself to break apart.

-Foolish?-she whispered, not angry, but sad-You hurt me, Lancelot. More than what I care to admit. How could-.

-Forgive me-Lancelot cut her off with a kiss-Forgive me and leave with me, to home-.

He'd never been surer of the words he was saying. All this years, he should've known. Gods damn him, but this girl had been his since the day he picked her up to carry her on his horse.

-Why?-she kept interrupting their lip-locking, much to his annoyance-Why do you want me to leave with you?-.

-Damn it, Dev, you know why-.

-Say it-.

Lancelot stopped and stared vacantly at her.

-What?-.

-Say it-she looked at him straight in the eye-I am tired of playing this little game of running away from our feelings. Im done fooling around with men-she was surprise at her own words, but the moment she voiced them she knew they were true-If you really want this, say it. Say it and I'll leave anywhere with you-.

They held a silent battle of eyes, black against blue molten with brown. Devnet's heart quivered inside its cage, fearing and yet yearning the answer. Lancelot found his inside frozen inside him.

-Devy, please. You know I can't-.

Her soul dropped.

-Why not?-she struggled not to look crushed.

-I just can't, I don't know way. I cannot promise you anything, save my fidelity to you and the truth of my feelings-.

The woman stared at him for what seemed an eternity. Her eyes searched for something unknown to him inside his mind. She pressed her plump lips together, studying the thoughts around her head. She almoust pitied the faint resigned tone in his voice.

-What are you so afraid of-she whispered beneath the ghostly moonlight. All Lancelot could think about was just how much she remained him of one of her own goddess. It wasn't a question, more like a wonder said out loud. Lancelot could not answer. A combination of pride, uncertainty, maybe even fear, thought he would never admit _that._

-What are we then?-she was standing on her tiptoes, and she still had to tilt her head up.

Lancelot shook his head, rolling his eyes sideways at his own frustration.

\- I cannot name it-he admitted, ashamed. He took her pale little face in his hands however, and spoke closely, excluding the rest of the world from his words-We're Devnet and Lancelot, just you and me-he sighted heavily-It is all you can get from a man whose life does not even belong to himself-.

Devnet could understand the bitter truth of his words. It started to make sense inside her head, as much as she would have chosen it to be different. Maybe it wasn't so bad. But she had to be sure of something first.

-Just you and me?-she repeated.

He nodded.

-Aye, I swear it. By your Gods and mine. Hell, I'll even swear it by Arthur's God for all that's worth it.

Oh the honesty in his eyes, so usually mocking and dark, nearly drove her to tears again. She lifted her hands and held them against the dark stubble of his face.

-I missed you-she whispered before pulling him to a passionate kiss.

Many blissful hours into the night, she was back inside his bed, naked and bathing in the warmth of his body. Her hand played distractedly with his. Moonlight turned her skin to silver and snow; her freckles to ashes. Lancelot leaned and kissed her tenderly.

-I have to feed my cat-she announced after, before getting out of bed and pulling his tunic over her head, hiding her body despite his protests.

-You're leaving me cold and lonely for a cat? I feel humiliated-he exclaimed dramatically. Devnet rolled her eyes.

-I can't have _my baby _starving to death, you heartless bastard! I'll be back in no time, I promise-she smiled over her shoulder before shutting the heavy door behind her.

She shivered. A gush of icy wind trespassed the cloth of the tunic, making her skin prickle. The stone floor was cold beneath her feet. _I should've brought socks._

-Had a good time?-.

She jumped.

-Gawain!-.

-Much to your luck. Im sure Arthur wouldn't be so amused of this-.

Devnet looked over her shoulder at the door to Lancelot's room.

-Uhm…-.

Gawain crooked and eyebrow.

-You can explain?-he suggested teasingly, before laughing-Worry not, stupid. We already know about this-he pointed his chin over her shoulder-Nice tunic, by the way. Is it yours?-.

Devnet tugged at the hem of the shirt, self-conscious about the fact that it barely covered her thigh.

-Stop staring, arse-she snapped-How did you know?-.

-Oh, tonight at the tavern Tristan shared his amusing theory with us and we all put two and two together-he reached over to pull the sleeve of the tunic back over her shoulder-You fooled us for quite some time, didn't ya?-.

Devnet sucked at the tip of her thumb. An old habit.

-Five years-she admitted, embarrassed.

Gawain barked out a laugh.

-Well, I certainly did not expect it to be _that_ long-he sighted.

-But… you're not mad?-she ventured.

Her friend shook his head vigorously.

-Nah. Im not judging. You'll know what you're getting yourself into. All I'll say is that you'd better make your business quietly or take it somewhere else. It is one thing to hear Lancelot going down on a random lass. But I'd be deeply disturbed to hear my best friend's moans of pleasure-.

Devnet giggled, flushing red. She stood on her tip toes and kissed his bearded cheek.

-Of course-she paused for a moment-Do all of the men know?-she added.

Gawain nodded somewhat glumly.

-Aye, and not all of them are taking it as easily as I am. Be careful, Little One-.

-Will do-Devnet smiled and turned on her heels towards her room, but turned a few steps ahead and raced back to the knight, hurling her arms around his neck and burying her face between the shaggy strands of his hair. He smelled of leather and ale.

-Thank you for not getting angry.-she whispered, emotion and relieve caught in a lump at her throat. Gawain chuckled as he returned her hug before lowering her back to the ground. He pecked her cheek brotherly.

-Lancelot's not worth my anger-he laughed.

It was a relieve, Devnet noted to herself, that things had finally cleared off. Next morning it felt like waking up from a long nightmare full of gloominess and bad omens, back into the life that made her happy. Finally things were starting to improve.

Today she decided to stop by the nursing hut to help Dagonet. The giant knight received her with the small curling of a smile, inviting her in and leaving her to sort out the medical herbs he'd collected that morning.

Devnet executed the task humming quietly, a smile playing over her lips. As much as she did not expect Lancelot to cease his womanizing manners, she knew that he would go no further with other women now. Named or unnamed, they were closer to lovers than they had ever been before. And the flirting didn't bother her. In fact, she hoped he wouldn't change that, since it was part of his charm.

An apprehensive series of knocks on the door made her turn her attention as it opened. Speaking of the king of Rome, in stepped Lancelot, holding a hand against the blood stream springing from his nose.

Her eyes fell with shock on the bright red trail all over the front of his clothes and the drops running down the arm he held to his face. His fist was completely smeared in blood, clasped firmly around his nose in a fail attempt to stop the bleeding.

-What happened!?-she gasped, eyes fixed on the bloody stains at his feet.

-Someone told Arthur-Lancelot said for all manner of answer. His voice came out muffled and nasal, as if he was constipated.

Devnet's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets in surprise.

-He _punched_ you!?-.

Lancelot grimaced.

-Not only that. I think he broke my nose-.

Devnet was in absolute shock, trying to imagine her roman friend, always so tranquil and in control of himself, hitting his best friend so hard it had broken his nose. For Gods' sake, he was probably very, very angry. And she was next. A lump formed at her throat.

Lancelot cleared his throat, or tried to. His own blood got in his mouth and he ended up coughing and spitting.

-Dev, I mean not to disturb your thoughts, but I am a bloody mess at the moment-he managed to say.

She snapped back to focus.

-Right…of course. All right, first we've got to stop the bleeding…-she turned to look for cloths on the cabinets.

-Oh, and Dev…-Lancelot sounded reluctant.

-Yes?-.

-I am not the only one-.

She turned to question whatever he meant, but had her answer before she'd even opened her mouth. Galahad has stepped in beside Lancelot, sporting a black eye the size of a plum and a split lip.

-Yikes!-she winced-And what happened to _you_?-.

Galahad sighted and replied through gritted teeth.

-Guess who was that _someone_ who told Arthur-he admitted with regret.

She cast a reproachful look in Lancelot's direction.

-You _punched _him!?-.

-It's the sneaky traitorous rat's bloody fault I got my nose broken in first place-.

She turned to Galahad.

-You _told_ Arthur about him and me!? Galahad! How could you!?-.

-Aye, aye. _Listen_, can we discuss all of this later?! -.

-What in the sake of everything that's good and holy is going on here?-.

The three of them flinched at Dagonet's booming voice, as the giant stepped into the room, demanding control over his domains. His clear eyes danced from Lancelot to Galahad to Devnet and back, waiting for an answer from either of them. Devnet sighted and explained the whole situation to him. By the end of her tale, Dagonet shook his head in disbelieve and sighted.

-All of this is for such an insignificant affair? You are all mad. Mad and immature, that is-.

-Here, you idiots, I'll bleed myself to death before Lancelot if y'all keep staring at each other like a fucking flock of sheep-.

-Grow a pair, pup-.

-Lancelot…shut up-.

Dagonet examined his two brothers with a critical eye before saying:

-Dev, find something cold for Galahad to hold against his eye while I tend Lancelot. Bring a wet cloth to clear all the blood away.

Devnet dipped a pair of cloths on a bucket filled with melted morning frost and pressed one against Galahad's purple eye. He winced, but held it in place.

-That will stop the swelling, just keep pressing softly-.

She joined Dagonet, who was studying Lancelot's mess with a critical eye.

-What do you think?-she asked.

-It is certainly broken. I'll have to put it back into place or he's risking to keeping a crooked nose. However, I can't do it with all these blood. Clean him while I prepare an ointment for Galahad's eye-.

Devnet brought a bowl with water and started washing Lancelot's blood stained chin. Red drops were trailing down his neck as well, and soon enough the water from the bowl was coppery.

-Dag, it won't stop bleeding-she announced, preoccupied.

The healer was smearing Galahad's bruise with the salve, a sticky substance that the young knight didn't fancy very much.

-Give him some more frost and then we'll twist the bone back into place-_stop that_, cub, this will help to demise the swelling-what a mess you two have made of yourselves-.

Devnet pressed the icy cloth beneath Lancelot's nose, twisting her face at the ugly angle it was twisted.

-How did this happen?-.

-Arthur summoned me. When I arrived he told me to come closer, so I did. Before I knew it his fist was in my face. I was smart enough not to ask why-.

-So you went in search for Galahad and punched him?-.

-Aye. Found him at the tavern and knocked him off his seat. Then Vanora scolded us both here-.

Devnet shook her head, looking sideways at Galahad who sat on the table fighting the urge to scratch at his eye.

-Will the slash in his lip need stiches?-she wondered to Dagonet. The man shook his bald head.

-No. It's just a scratch. I'll close on its own-.

-It burns-complained Galahad.

-Its supposed to, kid. Now. Let's look at that fracture-.

Devnet stepped aside to give him space.

-You. And you. Hold him. This will hurt-he warned.

Lancelot grunted as Devnet and Galahad wrapped their arms around his shoulders.

-Just get it over with-.

The crack of the bone made Devnet gag in horror. Lancelot tensed but did not scream. He did curse in all ways possible that came to his mind.

-_Fuck. Shit. Gods be damned. Fucking shit. Damn. Fuck_-were only some of them.

Dagonet slapped the side of his head.

-Watch that language in front of the girl, idiot-.

The curly-haired shot him a fulminating look.

-This hurts, you dim-witted git-.

At that moment, Arthur surprised them by stepping inside the infirmary.

-You have it well deserved-he commented coldly.

-Devnet seems to think otherwise-Lancelot's tone was challenging.

-Devnet is not thinking straight-.

-Devnet is right here and she doesn't fancy when people talk over her-she cut them off.

She stepped forward to face him, or his chest, for as anyone else, he was taller than her. His face with a sullen mask of fury and reproach. If looks could burn…anyone else would've turned into a pile of ashes at his feet, but Devnet had been dealing with his overprotectiveness her whole life.

Arthur fulminated her

-You. What in the name of God were you thinking!?-.

-That's interesting, I was just about to ask the same question. Dag's floor is covered in blood because of you-.

-This is because you've been messing around with the wrong men-.

-He's your best friend-.

-He is too fond of what's beneath a lady's skirts-.

Devnet would have replied, but at that moment Bors stormed inside, followed by a bored Gawain and an expressionless Tristan. Dagonet seemed clearly disturbed that his nursery had turned into a common room.

-WHERE IS HE!?-Bors roared, looking around, eyes falling over Lancelot-Im gonna break your ugly nose all over again, pretty boy. You should've kept it in your breeches with _he_r-.

The younger man rolled his eyes.

-Just because you oafs saw her as little sister all this time, doesn't mean I did-.

-You bloody bastard! You are not living to see another morning!-he flung himself in Lancelot's direction with every intention of reducing him to a bloody pulp. Devnet couldn't help but scream, Galahad jumped away from the table, Arthur called for order in vain, Gawain just looked bemused and Tristan was eating an apple.

-Bors!-.

At that, Dagonet stepped in the man's way and contained him; being the only one who was able to do so. Bors twisted and struggled against his grasp, growling like a furious bull. Dagonet finally got him to calm down and back off to a corner, were he stayed casting dark glances at Lancelot. Devnet felt slightly surprised. She'd never thought Bors would care so much about her virtue. Deciding it had been enough, she steped on a stool and whistled to catch all of their attention.

-Now-she began firmly-Listen closely, you pack of brutes. I am not some naïve little wench that goes through life with no idea of what it's all about. I know damn well what Im doing and my beneath-the-sheets activities are none of your damn business. Im a grown woman, I know how to tight my own laces, thank you very much. I don't need y'all over me, guarding my every move. I'll do whatever pleases me, whether you like it or not-she paused to catch her breath, blowing the loose strands of her braid of her face-Besides, for the love of all the Gods, it's just Lancelot, not some serial rapist-.

She ended her little speech with a glare that dared them to speak against her. After what seemed an awfully long silence in wich everyone returned her with blank expressions, it was, unexpectedly, stoic Tristan who finally took the word:

-Well, it was us who taught her to stand for her own choices and speak her mind in first place -.

The scout shrugged, a secret smile of amusement playing on his hazel eyes before he left the hut, munching his apple.

Gawain cleared his throat and clasped Bors shoulder.

-C'mon, you ugly brute. She's right. Besides, the stubborn little mule knows how to defend herself-.

Bors grunted.

-Let it go, Bors-warned Dagonet-You are not starting a fight in my infirmary.

Devnet's eyes where fixed on Arthur. Despite her words, she did care very much for his opinion, after all, he'd known her longest, and for many years he'd been the only friend in her life. His approval meant the world for her.

Arthur looked at her, trying to accept the fact that she indeed was no longer that troublesome little girl he so much loved, but a young woman whose life he could not control. Over the corner of his eye he cast a quick look in his First Knight's direction and sighted. It could be worse, he told himself. The man had more sins than all of them put together, but he wasn't bad. In the end, Arthur trusted him with his life. Why not trust him his sister's heart?

-But _what_ is this?-he couldn't help but wonder.

-Let's not waist our time on labels-she skilfully avoided the question-It is what it is-.

The roman sighted.

-Very well then-. He could only smile when she saw the glimmer of joy in Devnet's eyes_. Spoiled little brat_-But…-he thought for a moment-You'll be cleaning the stables this afternoon. With all that cleaning implies. -he gave her a pointed look.

Devnet's face decomposed, suspecting what he meant.

-Are you…_punishing_ me?-she asked incredously. Arthur chuckled amusingly for an answer-You can't do that!-she protested, jumping from the chair.

-Is that so?-Arthur coiled an eyebrow at her-As your metaphorical elder brother, I believe I am in my divine right to ground you-.

-Under what fundaments?-.

He smirked.

-Being with unhealthy company-.

Speechless, the brunette looked around her, waiting for the men to come in her defence. Surely they had to see the ridiculousness in this. But she received nothing but mocking smirks. Even Lancelot looked smug.

-What, a minute ago you were biting at one another and now you're all in the same side?-she snapped.

It was Bors who laughed boisterously.

-That's how men work, lassie. We get angry, through a couple of punches and insults here and there, and it's all settled-.

She lifted her head with indignation.

-You bastards will pay for this-.

-How intriguing-replied Arthur-Stables, Devnet. _Now_-.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this one. Leave your reviews to see what you think so far, please! I'd love to read them. Love, call-of-the-wind ;)**


	10. VI) Shards of Home

**Hello everyone! This chapter is mostly fluff and reflexive, almost a whim from my part. I promise next chapter will finally join the plot-line of the movie, I don't want to extend it any further, otherwise it becomes to tiring, doesn't it ? Well, as usual I ask of you to leave reviews of your thoughts regarding the story, to help me develop it in the best way possible. Enjoy!**

-Ah! If it isn't our favourite stable girl-.

Devnet shot Gawain an ugly stare as she walked towards the training yard, thinking of a few very un-lady like curses she should spit in Arthur's direction. "You'll clean the stables today". Liar. It was the fourth day he'd ordered the same thing, just because he could. The smell of dirty hay and horse dung was haunting her by now.

The knights were sitting around the yard, waiting their turns while they sharpened their weapons. Galahad and Dagonet were circling each other, swords held firmly, ready to meet. Devnet motioned for Gawain to move and make space for her on a bench and sat to pull her soft cotton pants inside her boots, studying the two men confronting each other.

Galahad was a remarkable fighter, but he was lost against Dagonet. Being so big, it was to be expect the later one to be slow and heavy. On the contrary, he was gifted with incredible agility. It was not that, however, what played against Galahad, but the giant's patience. Dagonet limited his actions to circling around Galahad in a defensive position, waiting for the young knights to lose focus due to exasperation. Then Dagonet would give an accurate thrust that knocked Galahad backwards.

-His passions play against him-pointed Lancelot, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside the bench. Gawain nodded at his words.

-Aye, the cub feels too much-.

Devnet pursed her lips.

\- If only he learned to control his impulsivity-.

-It's more than that-cut Tristan. He sat crossed legged on the floor in front of her, sharpening the sword he held over his lap-When it comes to face-to-face battle, he thrust to hurt, not to kill. He lacks discipline-.

The brunette's face became sombre-You mean he's not a cold-blooded killer-she replied sourly.

-No-Lancelot shook his head-Tristan's right. He is not able to hold back his feelings. You either kill or get killed. It's the only way to survive here. If you let compassion, or empathy make you doubt, you're dead. There is no guarantee that your enemy will share such feelings-.

To Devnet, who had been taught throughout her life to respect every life above anything else, those words horrified her. She knew she was capable of killing when it came down to her own life or the ones of those she loved. But she would never detach herself from her feelings like that.

-That's inhuman-.

-War comes as natural to humans as love does-Gawain clasped a hand gently on her tiny shoulder-We do whatever it takes to survive-.

At that moment, Dagonet slammed Galahad's arse on the mud for the third time. Devnet's almoust twin lifted a hand to call a truce, breathing heavily.

-Enough-he panted.

Bors chuckled mockingly.

-Tired, pup?-.

Galahad showed him his middle finger-Of falling on my ass every two steps? Aye...The floor is hard-.

Bors cackled in amusement. Dagonet rolled his eyes and helped Galahad to his feet with a gentle smile.

-You fought well-he stated with his deep voice. Galahad shook his head in denial.

-Don't go all pity taking on me, Dag. I lost. I accept that-.

Galahad had always been an awful loser. Devnet stood up and skipped towards him with a smile on her face, willing to cheer him up before he stormed off to suckle in a corner.

-C'mon, Gal. Body combat. You and me-she invited, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist the offer. Such fights normally ended in both of them rolling on the ground like pigs, laughing their arses off.

He pressed his lips together with reluctance. Devnet nudged him, not willing to give up.

-What? Scared you can't beat a girl?-she pocked playfully at his pride. It did the trick. Galahad started to smirk slowly. The glimmer of his blue eyes returned. He rested his sword against a bench and followed her to the centre of the courtyard, positioning himself to an offensive stand-up. The others smiled and pulled their seats in a half-circle around the two opponents, eager to see who obtained victory.

Galahad shook his head with a crooked grin.

-Do not worry, sweetheart. I promise I'll go easy on you-.

Devnet smirked.

-That won't be necessary-she twisted her body immediately and thrust a kick to his chest, hoping to catch him by surprised. Galahad stopped her foot in mid-air and pulled it, knocking her to the ground. She rolled in the dirt before he could hit her, jumping to her feet as she backed away to gain space. Again she attacked and again he stopped her, this time grabbing her arm and making her turn, holding it painfully behind her back. She gritted her teeth. Galahad's breath was close to her ear, his beard tickling her cheek. He sounded cocky.

-You fight like a girl-.

-At least I_ know_ how to fight!-she grunted before slamming her free elbow against his stomach. It knocked the air out of him, and when he bent, she found herself free, though only for a moment before he was back after. They battle eventually moved to the floor, were both youngsters rolled in the mud, covered in dirt and laughing. Years of training had made Devnet strong enough to match the men's strength, but she lacked the muscled frame. Instead, she had to trick herself out of Galahad's control, making use of her whole body and her speed.

Soon enough she managed to roll over him and sit on top, holding his arms away from her face with a triumphant grin.

-Give in-she demanded. Around them, the other knights were collecting the results of their bets.

Galahad frowned.

-Never-.

He applied all his brute force on her. Devnet's whole body trembled with tension as she struggled to match him. Drops of sweat bedded her forehead. She started to give in. A strangled cry escaped her lips before Galahad knocked her to the mud and reversed their positions. She hissed in frustration, trying to free herself in vein.

-Fine!-she gritted in the end-I give. Now get off me!-.

Galahad was too busy gloating to be a gentleman and help her up, so she pulled herself to her feet, grimacing at the places where surely there would be bruises. Besides, she was covered in mud and dust. Gawain was laughing at her.

-You want a fight too?-.

He chuckled-In your state, I'd beat you with my first blow. But Im a bit sore this morning, after my…late night activities-he flashed a dirty grin at her.

-What activities?-Lancelot smirked in Gawain's direction when he overheard the conversation-I sleep next door to you and all I heard was your snoring-.

Devnet joined the men's laughter, ruffling Gawain's hair.

-You'll have to introduce me to this _fascinating_ imaginary lady of yours-she commented, pulling another round of mocking chuckles.

A hand fell over Devnet's shoulder, and she turned surprised, smiling when she saw it was Arthur. But then she recalled she was supposed to be angry at him and shook him off. The others had calmed down their laughter and were now smiling at their commander.

-What?-snapped Devnet-I've already cleaned the stables-.

The man narrowed his eyes at her with a thoughtful expression, but then a chuckle escaped his lips and he forced her into a brotherly hug.

-Fine. Your punishment is over-he tickled her, causing her to yelp and twist before she managed to snake away.

-If it was ever a punishment-she sneered-You were just getting back at me because you could-she stuck out her tongue, but ended laughing as well. After all, she was only too glad to get away from that damn place for a whole month.

Arthur pulled his arm around her shoulders and motioned for the rest to gather around. He had something to announce. Excitement washed over Devnet and she smiled in anticipation. Finally, they were going out!

-Knights-began the young roman-We have new orders-.

Lancelot snorted with a smirk.

-Don't we always?-.

Devnet rolled her eyes. Their commander and friend kept talking.

-Bishop Germanous is a day's ride from here. We are to ride out to meet him, and escort him to the fortress-he smiled and added-Where you shall be granted your discharge papers-.

Joy covered the men's faces, exchanging looks of happiness and excitement. They didn't even care about having to face danger again to escort the bishop, as long as their freedom was at hand. Devnet giggled, sharing their pleasure.

-We leave in an hour-added Arthur after the clamour had quieted. The bishop's carrige arrives in the morning, but we'll be spending the night in the forest, to clean the area from any possible woes. Ready yourselves. We shall meet at the main courtyard-.

She headed straight to the bathing rooms, and scrubbed herself pink until her skin was oversensitive and the water muddy. She dressed in soft black cotton pants, a thick shirt and a hard leather corsé over it. Her cat_, Cataibh_ was sitting impassively on her bed, watching her gather everything she might come to need during the excursion. When she patted its furry white head, it purred for a moment and then went back to sleep, as if the world had nothing to do with her existence.

_Gods bless her._

She stopped by the armoury to pick up her bow and her quiver of white-feathered arrows. _Damn_, Tristan would scold her again for not changing those feathers. They made her visible, he said. Might as well light a bonfire and start screaming her location. As much sense as that made, Devnet always ended up ignoring his warning. Those old arrows had been given to her by her father. The white feathers helped her to retrieve them after a skirmish.

-Tristan will shoot you on the spot for those arrows_, petite_-.

She smirked at Lancelot while swinging the quiver over her shoulder. The charming man held his twin blades crossed behind his head, grinning at her with amusement.

-You're one to talk. You'll cut your own head off one of these days-.

She hanged a couple of daggers from her belt and hid a small pair of knives between her garments. Then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his chin.

-Come, you suicidal lunatic. I don't fancy earning another day cleaning stables for being late-.

The wet season that preceded the first snows of winter had arrived from one day to another. When they rode off south, Devnet could feel the humidity sticking through her clothes and the faint drops of misty drizzle against her face. They sky was stained with every shade from white to grey. The speed of their steeds made the water freeze on their clothes, and by the time they finally pulled their horses to a slow pace, they were shifting uncomfortably in their saddles. As much as they hated it, the men were already used to the cold, wet climate of Britain, but Devnet could not stand the cold, despite living here her whole life. She pulled her cloak from the bags in her saddle and wrapped it tight around her, pulling the hood over her head to keep any more mist drops from covering her hair like a grey mantle.

-I've often thought about what it was that made the romans conquer this cursed piece of rock-Gawain broke the sullen silence thought no one was filling particularly talkative at the moment. By now the men were starting to have second thoughts about that mission. Why couldn't the romans escort their own instead of sending them off to bring his royal holiness -_royal holiness my ass-_ Were they so damn stupid they couldn't even protect one of their own?

Gawain was pursing on-It's cold, bleak and infested with Woads-.

Devnet narrowed her eyes at him, offended by his tone-Excuse me?-. Her friend shrugged.

-They do try to kill us, Dev-he shook his head-My point is, what does Rome gain from all of this?-.

-Power?-suggested Galahad.

-Arrogance and more stupidity?-sneered Lancelot, tousling his thick curls to wipe off the drizzle drops.

Tristan's quite voice flowed to them a few steps ahead, cold and stoic.

-They do it because they _can_-.

Devnet nodded gravely, in agreement. To her, Rome's motives were rather plain to see. All you had to do was study their history.

-Why do you think they invaded Sarmatia in first place?-.

The other knights seemed surprised by her question, staring at her as if she was some ignorant child asking why the sky was blue.

-They saw us as a threat-stated Galahad, proudly showing a fierce glimmer in his eyes-It's quite obvious-.

-Really?-Devnet turned in her saddle to look at him, sceptical-A bunch of tribes riding around hills with nothing on them but grass , mud and streams? Terrifying, Im sure-.

They took her words rather personally, as if it wasn't the plain truth. Before they could snap at her for being a traitor to her own people, she went on:

-Do not get me wrong. Sarmatians are proud, fierce and deadly, but not a single tribe ever moved a finger against Rome. If they went to war, it was to protect their own territory. Otherwise they would've just stuck to peace. The romans had no real reason to invade Sarmatia, but plain, raw greed. As Tristan so eloquently pointed out. They did it because they could-Devnet's gaze drifted away to the dark coloured trees passing by around them, mist coiling between their millenary roots. An unexpected pang of sadness and nostalgia weighed over her heart-After all-she whispered faintly-What threat could they possibly see in a keen that lives amongst the trees and paints their faces blue?

After that bitter exchange, no one attempted to start another conversation. Perhaps, thought Devnet, it was the gloominess of the day over them, or the anxiety of the future, or simply years of accumulated resentment taking over, as usual. She ducked to avoid a branch, pondering on her own thoughts. Her old anxieties had returned again.

She'd been feeling a sort of call from the celtic people lately, as if her mother's legacy was claiming her from some distant corner of the northern forests, waiting for her to return to the people she had forsaken many years ago. Maybe it was the fact that the life she'd known for years was coming to an end, and she would have to choose how to cope with it.

_I was raised Sarmatian, but I was born and brought up in this land_. The blue people's land. Didn't she even believe in the Gaelic Gods? She'd never praised the knights' deities_. I act like a Sarmatian…but I believe like a Woad_. What did that turn her into?

What is home? She casted a thoughtful look in Lancelot's direction, a few feet in front of her. She'd promised to leave with him. Where? To a land they'd made her believe was her home, but she'd never seen? Her eyes shifted furtively around her. Did she feel for Sarmatia the same way her friends, brothers, her protectors felt?

When her mother died, _dadaidh _could've saddle his horse and rose back to his original land with her. But he hadn't. Had he thought that his daughter truly belonged to Britain?

When they stopped at nightfall, her doubts had not left her, but she decided to leave reflections for later, concentrating on setting up the camp. The group's spirits had unexpectedly sprouted when the fire was lit and they clustered around in search for warmth. At first it was only tempted conversations, but throughout dinner they evolved to the usual jests and laughter thrown at each other over the cackling of the fire. Devnet sat with her head resting against Lancelot's side and her feet crossed over Galahad's lap. He glowered at her with annoyance and pushed her away, only to have her put her feet back stubbornly.

-Take your dirty feet off my legs-.

Devnet faked an innocent expression of bewilderment.

-They're not in your legs, they're in my boots-.

Chuckles rumbled around the fire. Galahad pushed her off again, and once more she lifted her boots cockily over him.

-Do you mind!?-.

-Please-she pouted pitifully, determinate to get what she wanted-My feet are cold. I can warm them by the fire from you lap-.

-Why don't you just move closely?-.

She tilted her head, eyeing him like the answer was obvious.

-Then where would I rest my weary head on?-.

-How about your own shoulders?-.

She grimaced.

-Nah, Im better off here. Stop being a jerk. Im a lady-.

She heard Bors snort to her right. Devnet had to admit that, no matter how feminine she was, she was far from ladyship, betrayed by her actions and most of all, her elegant vocabulary. She showed him the middle finger, chorusing the statement.

Hey eyelids had started to drop, when they asked her to sing, seemingly out of nowhere, thought she had the vague idea that they'd been talking about the women's voice back at Badon.

She shook her head repeatedly, despite their pleas.

-Oh, no. No, no-she stated and they would not convince her otherwise. Every time she sang she felt stupid and childish, awkward. She would _not_ make a fool of herself so they could mock her afterwards.

-Sing!-they insisted-Sing for us!-.

-Something that will help us sleep-asked Galahad, grabbing her had flatteringly, with a wishful expression.

-How old are you? Six?-. Behind her, Lancelot tucked at her hair, making her flinch. She turned to him with annoyance, finding him smirking with charm-You have a lovely voice, love. Sing for us-.

-No!-.

-SING!-.

-Please, _petite_-.

-Just sing the damn song already-.

The damn fools kept on pestering her, driving her patience to a limit that she'd do anything just to get them to shut up. She lifted her eyes to the skies, exasperated. Curse all of them.

-All right, all right, _fine_-she snapped, fighting to keep a smile from her face-I'll sing for you idiots. Only once though, so don't even think of asking for more-.

She despised them even more for the smug, self-sufficient grins on their faces. Sneering with indignation, she pulled her cloak about her, and fixed her face on the dancing flames in search for a song. She felt Lancelot's hand rest over her hips and lift her on his lap, so everyone could see her. After a moment of thought, she started to sing in Gaelic:

_"A naoidhean bhig, duinn mo ghuth  
Mise ri d' thaobh, O mhaighdean bhan  
Ar righinn oig, fas as faic  
Do thir, dileas fhein  
A ghrian a's a ghealaich, stuir sinn  
Gu uair ar cliu s ar gloire  
Naoidhean bhig, ar righinn og  
Mhaighdean uashaill bhan"._

**(Little baby, hear my voice  
I'm beside you, O maiden fair  
Our young Lady, grow and see  
Your land, your own faithful land  
Sun and moon, guide us  
To the hour of our glory and honour  
Little baby, our young Lady  
Noble maiden fair)**__

She realised she'd closed her eyes sometime during the song, drifting off into the trees while her hand played absentmindedly with the curls at the back of Lancelot's head. Self-conscious, she opened her eyes, to find the men fixed on her with strange smiles on their faces. She was unable to figure out their meaning.

-That was very beautiful-. It was Dagonet who had spoken, making his booming voice impossibly quiet. She noted his eyes glistered with emotion, and he nodded at her with a smile filled with pride. Beside her, Lancelot's breath tickled her ear when he spoke.

-Whatever does it mean?-.

Suddenly, Devnet was struck by an unexpected intrest in her hands.

-Its an old lullaby, from the highlands of the north-she explained timidly, talking to the floor- It's supposed to praise the baby girl, promising she will grow to be loved and taken care of. That she shall have a blissful life of glory and joy-.

She translated the song to them the best way she could, telling them she'd heard it from her mother. She felt reluctant. The song was a very intimate to her, one of the few treasured memories of her mother. All she could recall was her beautiful _màthair_, rocking her in her arms while and singing softly in her ear. She'd only counted with three winters of age. Devnet never knew exactly how, but she'd memorised the song that nights, lulled by the maternal warmth that held her against her mother's chest_. _Sharing such a personal thing with the knights, no matter how close they were, made her feel naked, not in body, but in soul. She felt very vulnerable. Her eyes searched desperately for Arthur. He was the only one who fully understood what that song meant to her. He'd seen Aine sing it to her daughter more times than Devnet herself remembered. The reassuring smile on his face made her feel a little better_. _She pressed herself against Lancelot's chest, strangely invaded by shyness.

-My mother would sing me lullabies as well-muttered Galahad, with a strange tone of tenderness and longing-She wrapped me in furs on the cold winter nights and caress my forehead until I fell asleep. She had a pretty voice too-.

Those words opened a door Devnet had rarely seen in her precious knights. The door to memories of a life long passed them, filled with grasslands and people whose faces they struggled to remember. Of boys very different from the deadly fighters they were now.

Gawain smiled, staring at the flame-It was very windy, where my tribe lived. The wind, would literally howl between the hills; it made your hair stand on end. And the stories about haunting souls lustful for blood the elders would tell us before bedtime didn't help to lessen that feeling-he chuckled-You must know, I was a cowardly child then. Those howls terrified the hell out of me. So mother would…sing to me. Normally of lands so wonderful they could never be real, but I found comfort in believing they were…-he felt into silence, lost in his own memories.

Lancelot was toying with the pendant given to him by his family in what seemed another life ago. He paused before commenting:

-I recall…my sister loving those songs. She never had enough of them. She'd even pledge me to sing for her every once in a while-.

Gawain lifted his eyebrows at his black-eyed companion, smirking-Did she go deaf? rolled his eyes and made a rude noise in Gawain's direction, with a smirk playing over his lips.

-I didn't know you have a sister, Lancelot-Arthur sounded surprised. No one could blame him. Lancelot spoke of his childhood so rarely, it was hard to believe he'd even had a family. Devnet felt the man's chest expand and then fall when he inhaled deeply.

-Aye-he muttered-I did. And a little brother too-his tone made it clear he had no wish to extend that matter further. Lancelot always chose to push back the memories of Sarmatia and the life he'd had there. Whatever happened in the future, that life was lost. He was a stranger to his family, nothing but the memory of a serious son lost to the romans. And they were nothing to him, but a life he no longer had. When he'd arrived to the island, he'd made himself forget his homeland the best he could, because there was no use in feeding his hopes with yearning, when there was nothing to guarantee he'd ever live to see Sarmatia again. And now, he barely recalled anything at all.

They heard Bors sight, while popping the bones of his knuckles-It was a bitch of a place where I lived, mind you-he said with his usual blunt tone-But I guess there was a time in wich I called it home. My mother never sang a bloody song to me, because her voice was uglier than sin, but she told the best stories I've ever heard so far-he spat to the flames-Ah, but that was a long time ago. So much for me, Sarmatia is in the past. I ain't going back there-.

-'Twas a beautiful place, wasn't it, though?-Galahad's voice was nostalgic, his eyes closed to recall the wind against his face-The wind, the grass, the feeling that you could ride on and on forever, until you became immortal-.

Silence spoke more than words, exposing every man's agreement to those words. Devnet wondered what their memories of Sarmatia looked like. All she had were imaginary sceneries in her head, based on what she'd been told. It was hard for her, who had grown surrounded by woods, to imagine a land of endless seas of grass as far as the eye could reach. She wondered if she would ever see Sarmatia with her own eyes. The old doubts returned and she sighted. A home she couldn't even imagine in her head.

**Remember, reviews are the best thing you can offer a writer :3 ! Even if it's just to say you like the story (I hope you do) See you next chapter !**


	11. VII) The Roman Bishop

***A.N: Hey everyone ! Finally, we reach the movie-plot he-he. First of all, thank you to all the new readers (and the old too) and the follows and votes, you rock! I wanted to point out that this whole story is something like a draft, so I might be changing the previous chapters as I correct them (I don't think I'll change the story itself, more like the narrating and such things). That said, here's another chapter with Dev and the gang. Oh, I also started thinking that perhaps I could write a few chapters, or some parts from the other characters POV, thought I haven't made up my mind. You can leave your comments on this choice, telling me if you like the idea or what hahaha Well, now, enjoy ! (I hope) :)**

Years of patrols would never change the fact that Devnet was _not_ a morning person. Anyone who attempted to make it otherwise, would be lucky if he got away with nothing but a few insults. The funny fact was that, after fifteen years of knowing her, the knights still insisted in waking her up at the crack of dawn. The brunette had no intention of rising until the last minute. She merely curled herself into a tight ball and kept held for dear life to her sleep, ignoring every single call that involved her name. Let them ready their departure without her.

She finally dragged herself to her feet when the men were breaking their fast. Stretching her limbs in a cat-like manner, she approached the fire and stole a loaf of bread from Bors right before he stuffed it in his mouth.

-Good morning, gentlemen-she greeted, gracefully skipping away when the burly man aimed to grab her ankle. She sat crossed legged between Gal and Gawain and took a wineskin filled with milk from the first

-Dearest-she looked at Gawain over the wineskin when she took a swallow-You have _got _to do something about your snoring. It's like having a bear breathing in my ear. Very disturbing, I must tell you-. She returned the flask to Galahad and stood on her feet, breathing in deeply. The men simply stared with amused grins on their faces, rolling their eyes at her hussy eccentricity.

She took her time packing her things, while the other waited, leaning against their horses' flanks. Lancelot rolled his eyes in her direction-Is her ladyship done yet?-.

Devnet took _Cian_'s reins in her hand and motioned for him to come closer, ignoring the mocking glare of the others. Lancelot sighted with resignation and kneeled beside her, locking the palms of his hands so she could take impulse to climb on her saddle.

-A lifetime spent in horse-back and half of sarmatian blood inside her, but she can't mount on her own -Gawain pointed out the obvious, making her snort with distaste. Always the same joke. It was not her fault that _Cian_ was awfully tall, when she was awfully small. It was like climbing a mountain. Ignoring the men's chuckles, she supported her foot in Lancelot's improvised stool and pushed herself up.

-At least she's as skinny as a twig-the knight cleaned his hands on his clothes and made his way to his own mount, climbing as easily as breathing. _Show-off_.

According to Arthur's reports, the bishop's carrige was said to cross a well-known glade before mid-day, where the knights would receive him and escort him back to Hadrian's Wall. Their commander sent Tristan ahead to scout the area for any chances of ambush. The others followed at an easy trot through a hilly landscape cut by the wind, making Devnet's eyes water by its strength.

Tristan returned an hour past to report that he'd sighted the roman carrige approach the meeting place, and that he saw no signal of enemies. Arthur ordered them to a gallop across the countryside, in haste to arrive before the romans did.

At their speed, they left the hills behind in an exhalation, and entered a fringe of trees, leaves rustling above their heads. Ahead was a field of high grass that crowned the small valley they'd been headed to. Devnet pulled the reins of her stallion, standing between Galahad and Tristan, and looked at the creek below her. It was flanked at either side by woods, and crossed by a wide stream that flowed soundlessly. The early morning mist was floating low above the grass, giving the place a ghostly touch that made her skin prickle without explanation. The whole valley seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen. Her uneasiness however, was cut short when Gawain spoke with approval-Ah, as promised, the bishop's carrige-.

Devnet, standing on her stirrups, could just distinguish the figure of a small carrige, surrounded by centurions, rolling down the road that crossed the valley. They studied the caravan with mild interest, different expressions crossing their faces. Beside her Galahad nodded in Bors's direction with a smile.

-Our freedom, Bors-he commented, to him in particular because they'd been discussing the matter that morning.

The older knight closed his eyes and pretended to sniff the air-Mmhm-he grinned-I can almoust taste it-.

-And your passage to Rome, Arthur-added Dagonet, smiling at his Commander. Arthur locked his eyes in the distance that separated him from that carrige, as if he was staring into the golden city of the Roman Empire instead of a moving wooden box. An unexpected sprout of hatred for that cruel vehicle that came to take her men away from her assaulted Devnet, making her feel guilty and selfish. She shuddered it off before anyone noticed.

As the caravan advanced, they were able to study its formation. Six centurions rode ahead. One at each side. Another six riding in pairs behind. Their pace was steady and confident, even from afar the Sarmatians, Devnet and Arthur could see the romans were not alert. Such thing could cost life in this place. Perhaps in a cruel irony of the Gods, at that very moment one of the soldiers at the front let out a strangled scream before falling from his saddle, and arrow protruding from his neck.

-Woads-alerted Tristan immediately, and Arthur had given the order to ride in the romans' aid before the scout had finished talking.

Suddenly the woods around them were alive with Picts, shouting bone-chilling war cries and running towards the caravan. The escorts drew their weapons in synchronization and formed a protective circle around the carrige, ready to repel the attack. As if thirteen soldiers who'd never been in Britain before could stand a chance against the natives. The battle was currently a carnage. Woads were dragging the centurions off their horses and stabbing them to death without hesitation. The romans were clearly in disadvantage, but that's why they had Sarmatian knights at their "service", wasn't it?

Devnet felt invaded by the usual thrill of battle, that burning fire in her blood and the sprinting hear-beat in her chest. Her head emptied of all thought outside the bow in her hand and the arrow she pulled to the string. She had a clear idea when she broke the battling lines to halt Cian just beside the carrige. With agility, she climbed on the roof, where she would have a good vantage point of the battle and her targets. The celtic archers were hidden behind the safety of their trees, but her sharp sight could see were the arrows were coming from, and she aimed there, confident she'd knocked down at least a few of them. She whirled around in search of the knights, shooting any woad that approached her men. She drove and arrow through a man's chest before he had the chance to chop off Galahad's leg. She killed another that tried to sneak up on Bors while the man leaned to kill his opponent. She stabbed a Woad that tried to climb the carrige with the end of her bow.

-COME DOWN FROM THERE THIS BLOODY INSTANT!-Lancelot was fighting a few feet away from the carrige, his twin blades piercing two Woads that had come to attack him from either side. But Devnet was not paying attention to that. Instead she pulled another arrow and shot a third enemy that had been about to sink his axe in Lancelot's head. Surprised, the knight whirled around to find the body nearly falling over him. He pushed it away, looking at Devnet over his shoulder with bewilderment.

-SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU-she called back-IM TOO BUSY SAVING YOUR SORRY ASS!-. She turned and helped Arthur out of a difficult position by shooting the man he was fighting in the hand. At her feet, Gawain had neared his horse to take a peek at the Bishop. A stupid movement on his behalf, because a Woad jumped on him from behind and dragged him down on the mud, threatening to choke him.

-Devnet!-he called in a strangled voice, wrestling with the woad and trying to reach for his axe, lying on the ground a few steps away, at the same time-I could use a little help here!-.

-Im a little busy at the moment-she replied, swinging the arrow in her hand and stabbing a woad in the eye when he tried to knock her feet down from under her. She fought the urge to vomit when the woad twisted and convulsed, blood sprouting from his socket and nose as he stumbled to the floor. Gods, she bloody hated killing them. But no one messed around with her men's life. She turned to help Gawain, praying she was on time, but saw that he'd already managed to roll back on his feet, swinging his axe mightily at anyone who tried to kill him. The woad that had knocked him down was lying dead at his feet. Tristan had decended from his horse and any man who dared to attack him found his doom at the end of the sarmatian's sword. Galahad was riding around shooting the archers in the trees. She saw Dagonet climbing out of the stream-_how on earth had he ended up there in first place?_-and knocking down a woad that rushed to attack him. She shot another that attacking him from his side. Bors was shouting gibberish, sticking out his tongue and punching his chest like a mad-man, claiming on his victory.

The battle was ending as abruptly as it had started. A few were scaring the last enemies away. Galahad had regrouped the horses beside the carrige. Devnet pushed the loose locks of her braid from her face, catching her breath as the adrenaline slowly subsided. Tristan, mounted again, trotted over to her with a chilling frown on his face.

-How many times-he scolded silently; because Tristan did not snap, he spoke with a tone so cold it was even worse-Have I told you not to make a damn _beacon_ of yourself? You were the easiest target perched up there like a damn bird, foolish woman-.

Devnet sighted, swinging the bow to her shoulder-But I wasn't shot. And I managed to save some lives more than once. Some things don't happen unless you take a risk-she fell to her knees and extended her hand to him-Here, help me down-. Grumbling, the man grabbed her arm and lowered her roughly, first to his saddle, and then to the floor.

Only then did Devnet notice the man hiding beneath the carrige. At first she was puzzled, wondering why in the name of _Babd Catha _he would be there, while his sire was in danger. Then she took account of his delicate woollen robes, and the sweat moistening his trembling pale face, and she understood. A servant, surely. A servant who'd never seen a sword in his life. Probably, he'd slipped beneath the carrige, hoping no one would notice him, at the beginning of the attack. He looked like he was about to wet himself, clasping his soft, useless hands in a trembling prayer that basically consisted in stammering words in Latin Devnet didn't understand, nor did she care to. She sneered. A coward man was _no man_ at all. Any woad or sarmatian woman would be shamed to be seen near such a creature.

Gawain sank his axe in the muddy soil and knelt to store his knifes back inside his boots. At the sight of the wildly dangerous looking knight, the roman got scared even more, if possible; his prayers becoming more frenetic, his shoulders slightly rocking back and forth.

-Save your prayers, boy-rumbled Gawain, spitting ever word with sarcasm-Your God doesn't live here-.

Fighting back a smirk, Devnet aimed to grab her horse's reins, but her hand stopped in mid-air when suddenly a Pict came rushing towards Arthur's back with his axe held high. She almoust shrieked in panic, but her friend turned and pointed his sword at the attacker's collarbone before he had the chance to hurt so much as a hair on his roman head. Arthur made the woad kneel. When his blue-tainted face was exposed to her, a short gasp of air escaped Devnet's lungs. Unconsciously, she was about to step in, but Lancelot held back her waist in a movement so sudden and brusque it knocked the air out of her.

-Stay out of it-he hissed, but she was as good as deaf, her eyes filled with blind panic.

-He's my cousin!-she pledged, trying to free herself from his grasp in vain. He held her back without difficulty.

-I know-his grip tightened-Arthur will not hurt him-.

But he didn't sound sure, and neither was Devnet. Arthur had never looked so threatening to her, perhaps because he'd never actually confronted one of her own flesh and blood. Devnet had never been close to Enyak, nor to his sister Guinevere. But seeing him kneel with his life at the edge of Excalibur's tip, she was invaded by a strong urge of fraternal protectiveness. A deadly silence fell over the battlefield as Arthur faced the man with the sun tattooed on his forehead.

-Why did Merlin send you south of the Wall?-his voice was calm, but his tone so hard it imposed itself nevertheless.

Enyak replied as saying something, wich only Devnet understood, because he spoke in Gaelic. _"Spill my blood with Excalibur, and make this ground holy_". Arthur's sword was a legend amongst the Woads. Everybody knew it was originally wielded by the celtic warriors of yore. Her cousin held his head proudly in defiance, waiting for the sword to sink into his flesh almoust as if it was an honour. Devnet squirmed when a faint trail of blood pooled in his collarbone, but Lancelot's arm still clung ruthlessly around her tiny waist.

-_Gods damn it_, Devnet-he growled in her ear-If they see you empathise with a woad, the romans will see you as a traitor-. That finally knocked some sense into her. He did have a point. The idea of the bishop accusing her for treason was not very appealing. She relaxed slightly, though still looking at Arthur and her cousin with apprehension. The young commander narrowed his gaze over Enyak.

-Pick it up-he ordered, motioning to the axe that laid on the grass beside the Woad. At first, the native was reluctant, almoust surprised, but when Arthur sank his sword deeper into his chest, he finally grabbed his weapon through gritted teeth.

Then, something strange happened, something Devnet was sure not everyone else noticed. Arthur's gaze travelled towards the woods surrounded by mist in front of them, looking for something in silent challenge. A cold shudder prickled down Devnet's spine. Suddenly she was certain that Merlin was watching the scene from those trees. It was him who Arthur was challenging. An unrecognisable pang tensed her muscles. Her eyes were fixed on Arthur now, as his were on the forest. Something was exchanged in the air; what it was, Devnet could not say.

The moment passed, and Arthur finally lowered his sword and walked away, sparing Enyak's life. The woad breathed in deeply, his hand evaluating the superficial damage at his throat. Before anyone noticed, he silently crept out of sight, casting one encrypted look in her direction before vanishing in the mist.

Arthur approached the carrige with determinate pace. -Bors-he called, expecting an update on the situation. The broad man stepped away from the carrige looking taken a back, and he pointed without looking.

-What a bloody mess-he muttered.

Peeking over Arthur's shoulder, Devnet saw a dead man dressed in rich robes, an arrow protruding from his head, his eyes unseeing and his mouth hanging ajar.

-That's not the bishop-she heard Arthur state, to her surprise. Taking care not to look at the body, she turned to see her friend pacing amongst the remaining roman soldiers, studying each of their faces intendedly. Gawain helped her on her horse, and they both stared amusedly at the trembling roman servant, now on the driver's seat.

-God help us-he muttered, out of breath with fear _"As if his God would do so"-_What are they?-.

-Blue demons who eat Christians alive-Bors spun abruptly and pointed at the roman-You're not a Christian, are ya?-. The roman sobbed and started to pray again. Bors looked at his clasped hand in awe

-Does this-he muttered-Really work?-the knight pressed his palms together and began muttering gibberish with closed eyes. After a minute, he opened them and looked around-Nothing-he spat-Perhaps Im not doing it right?-.

The roman was close to tears. Devnet rolled her eyes. Suddenly, one of the centurions spoke:

-Arthur. _Arthur Castus_-he chuckled-Your father's image! I haven't seen you since childhood.

-Bishop Germanous-much to their surprise, Arthur greeted the man with splendour-Welcome to Britain-.

Behind her, Devnet heard Galahad snort and mutter-Britain? Weren't we in Hell?-.

Arthur went on talking with the soldier-turned-bishop-I see your military skills are still of use to you-he turned as two guards carried away the body of the man inside the carrige-Your device worked-.

The roman looked amused-Ancient tricks-he replied, quivering his eyebrows-Of an ancient dog-he gave a short laugh. Almoust immediately, Devnet decided she did not like him, let alone trust him. A man willing to sacrifice one of his own, and to kill as many Woads as he had was far from the common definition of holly. If Arthur's God was as benevolent as he claimed him to be, Devnet couldn't understand why He would have chosen a man like that to represent him. His stony, conceited features and his blood-stained sword spoke otherwise of his sanctity.

The man was looking at them now.

-And this are the great Sarmatian knights we've head of so much in Rome-he eyed the group with obvious disdain. Probably a bunch of scraggy looking, blood covered and savage looking men was not exactly what he'd been expecting. When the bishop's eyes fell upon her, however, his contempt turned into a frown-I was not informed there was a woman amongst you-he commented with clear disapproval. Self-consciously, the knights closed around her at his words, their faces fierce and defiant.

-Bishop-replied Arthur carefully-This is-.

-_Alaine_, my lord-she cut him off, using her second name instead, because it sounded less native than the first-My name is Alaine, daughter of Sir Aynor, a former Sarmatian knight who remained in Britain after his serving-she bowed her head slightly, for the sake of cordiality more than respect. Germanous averted his gaze from her, uninterested, and decended from his horse, waling alongside with Arthur.

-I thought the Woads controlled the North of Hadrian's Wall-he commented, cleaning off the dust in his garment.

-They do. But occasionally they venture south-answered Arthur-Rome's anticipated withdraw has only increased their daring-.

-Woad?-the servant asked, puzzled.

Gawain looked at him over his shoulder, unimpressed-British rebels who hate Rome-he informed.

-Men who want _their country back_-added Galahad, red-faced. The resentful venom in his voice made it clear he did not only mean the Woads of Britain.

-Who leads them?-inquired the bishop-.

-He's called Merlin-Lancelot lifted and eyebrow with amusement-A dark magician some say-. A sceptical chuckle escaped the Sarmatians.

Arthur leaned over-Tristan, ride ahead and make sure the road is clear-. The scout snapped his tongue to his mount and road off without a word.

-Please do not worry, Bishop-Arthur turned to the man and escorted him to the carrige-We will protect you-.

-I've no doubt, commander. _No doubt_-. The man entered the vehicle, closing the curtains in his servants face as he climbed up, muttering:

-Dozens don't worry me nearly so much as thousands-.

-_Thousands_?-.

The roman turned to Lancelot, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him; but said nothing. Devnet reached out and touched the dark knight's wrist.

-Let's go-she suggested softly.

The ride back home was slow and uneventful. Devnet rode at the front of the caravan along with her companions, trying to keep as much distance as possible from the bishop's guard. If there was something worse than centurions, it was centurions coming straight from Rome. The day had cleared and turned rather warm considering the climate of Britain. Devnet and the knights joked around for the sake of escaping boredom, occasionally looking over their shoulders at the roman guards who eyed them mistrust and muttered amongst themselves.

-What do you reckon they're talking about?-complained Galahad, careful not to lift his voice much.

Tristan, who'd re-joined the group some time ago, trotted beside him and shuddered.-Let them be-he replied in his grave, unamused voice-They've probably never seen a face as ugly as yours-. His comment was chorused with various chuckles from the group. Galahad tried to look indifferent.

-I doubt my face is of much intrest to them-.

-I doubt any part of you is of much intrested to _anyone_-sneered Lancelot, settling his horse at a pace beside Devnet. She rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sight, looking at all of them as if they were children.

–Please-she stated-They're obviously mesmerized by _my_ beauty-.

The men exchanged sceptical looks between the others and then Galahad spoke-I guess that could be true, if they're into fifteen year old girls-.

-_Ha, ha._ Hilarious. That's it, go on laughing, pack of fools-.

It took them nearly all morning to crown the hills and sight their portion of Hadrian's Wall. They stopped the horses, waiting for the slow carriage to climb the slope. Before them laid what until that day, had been home to them.

-Well now that we're free men, Im gonna drink till I can't piss right-announced Bors, grinning.

Gawain lifted his eyebrow at the man before muttering unimpressed-You do that every night-.

-I never could piss straight-the broad man pointed boisterously at his breeches-Too much of myself to handle, down there-.

They rolled their eyes at him, fighting back the knowing smiles of sceptical amusement. They'd heard this from Bors only too many times.

-No, really! It's a problem!-he went on, looking around -It's like a-

-_Baby's arm holding an apple_-they chorused all at the same time with a funny synchronisation. They turned their heads to grin at Bors before breaking into laughter and urging the horses on. They took the road that runned parallel to the Wall. The horses trotted easily, eager to return to their stables. The usual bored soldiers paced on top of the massive construction, saluting at the carrige when it passed below. The road was wide enough for three to four horses to walk side by side, and Devnet urged _Cian_ between Gawain and Bors, chatting animatedly about their plans for freedom,

In a moment they were silent, Galahad fell in beside them, a frown on his face, as usual.

-I don't like him, that roman-he commented with contempt. _"Join the club"_ thought Devnet with a smile. Galahad went on.

-He's here to discharge us!-Why doesn't he just give us our papers!?-.

The three stared at him blankly.

-Is this your happy face?-inquired Gawain after a moment. Devnet and Bors chuckled and Galahad had to smile despite himself.

-Galahad-added the blond knight with mockery- You still don't know the romans? They won't scratch their arses without holding a ceremony-.

-Yeah, why don't you just kill him, and then discharge yourself after?-snorted Bors.

-I don't kill for pleasure-replied the young knight, somewhat glumly. When Tristan passed beside him he added-Unlike some-.

The scout turned his face with the closest thing to a smile he could make. –Well you should try it someday, you might get a taste for it-he chipped before riding on.

-It's part of you-assured Bors-It's in your blood-.

Galahad shook his head, almoust laughing at their words-No, no, _no_!-. His tone betrayed no intentions of thinking otherwise-As if tomorrow, this was all just a bad memory-.

Bors made a sarcastically reflexive "_oh"_, sceptical. He, and many of the others, didn't believe fifteen years, especially of their kind of lifestyle, could be put behind so easily.

-And that, gentlemen, is what makes Galahad ten times the man any of you could ever hope to be. He values life-she blew a kiss in her friend's direction, who grinned before outdistancing them.

-I've often thought about what going home would mean after all of this-doubted Gawain-What will I do? It's different for Galahad. I've been in this life longer than the other-he stared ahead bitterly-So much for home, it's not so clearly in my memory-.

_"Stay with me"_ Devnet pledged inside her head "_Don't leave me all alone"._

-Well you think for you speak for yourself. It's cold back there, and everybody I know is dead and buried-Bors sniffed non gallantly before adding-Besides I have...-he stopped for a moment. Counting in his head-I think, a dozen children-.

-They're elven-observed Gawain. Devnet shook her head with a smile. Only Bors could lose count of how many children he'd fathered. The bald knight looked at their grinning faces and changed the subject before they had the change to mock him.

-You listen. When the romans leave, we'll have the run of all this space-he moved his arm over their surroundings. Devnet noticed that Gawain looked around, clearly thinking it wasn't much of a "place", but remained silent.

-I'll be governor of my own village-added Bors-And Dagonet will be my personal guard, and royal ass kisser, won't ya, Dag?-.

The alluded merely stared at his closest friend blankly, with no intentions of chorusing his words. Gawain sneered.

-First thing I'll do when I get home is find myself a beautiful sarmatian woman to wed-he declared with a smile.

Bors pretended to be puzzled-A beautiful sarmatian woman? Why do you think we left in first place?-he then imitated a cow, making them laugh.

Lancelot rode forward beside them, chuckling as well and shaking his head. Bors turned to him.-What about you, Lancelot? What are your plans for home?-.

He looked at them with husky black eyes, jaunty.

-Well, if this woman of Gawain's is as beautiful as he claims-he began, and Bors started chuckling-I expect to be spending a lot of time at Gawain's house. His wife will welcome the company-.

His comrade didn't share the joke. He scolded-I see, and what will I be doing?-.

-Wandering at your good fortune that all your children look like me-. The man smirked petulantly and trotted ahead.

Gawain called after him-Is that before or after I hit you with my axe?-. Bors was hysterical and Devnet was rolling her eyes. Classical Lancelot.

-Well, you heard him-grinned Bors, after he managed to control his laughter-Devnet, looks like you're marrying Gawain-.

The girl exchanged looks with the blond knights beside her and then they both stared at their as if he'd gone completely out of his mind.

-That's disturbing, Bors, it really is-said Gawain, making a face.

Devnet agreed. -That would be…incestuous!-she pretended to gag.

In front of them, Lancelot turned in his saddle and winked an eye at her, grinning wickedly-Don't worry, love. Your children will have my looks no matter who you marry-.

She blushed pink, trying to burn the back of that mop of black curls with her narrowed eyes. Bors again was roaring with laughter beside her, and she fulminated his broad frame-Don't know what you're laughing at. Half of your bastards have curly hair and a witty tongue they _clearly_ did not inherit from you-she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Lancelot chuckled.

-Lancelot-Gawain's tone was filled with annoyed cynicism-Do you intend to scatter bastards all over the group?-. His sly companion smirked almoust childishly.

Devnet snorted-Well-she said with a final tone-Since I'd rather be married to my horse than to Gawain-_don't give me that look, you'd say the same_-my children will certainly be looking nothing like you, Lancelot-.

-No need to worry over that, _petite_. I can accept it if they take after their mother. You're a treat to anyone's eyes-.

He trotted on to ride beside Arthur before the girl could toss something at his head.

-_Petulant arse_-she snapped through gritted teeth-Oh _shut up_, you two!-she added at the chuckles coming from her sides.

They entered the courtyard at a deafening gallop, pulling their horses in a circle to give space for the carrige. A small of curious and idles gathered around, climbing the bars of the gate to catch a glimpse of the roman bishop. Devnet swung from her horse, smiling fondly at Jols as the man neared to grab the reins of _Vahe_ and _Iustitia_, Arthur's mare. The chief commander of the roman legion settled in Badon was greeting Germanus and exchanging words, but the knights couldn't care less about their business. The dismounted, stretched their limbs and started walking towards the tavern, laughing amongst themselves.

Devnet felt Arthur touch her shoulder lightly and she turned.

-Please go an tell them to gather at the Round Table before liquoring up and out of this world-he smiled tiredly at her. Devnet giggled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

-I'll do my best-.

She skipped over to where Bors was greeting Vanora, chuckling wickedly. For all response, the red-head slapped his face, making a sound that made Devnet wince.

-Where've you been?-she snapped, hands on her hips-I've been waiting for you!-

Bors looked at her hungrily, making the other men smile awkwardly and chuckle as they passed by.

-Ah, my little flower. Such…passion!-he growled before nearly swallowing her mouth.

Devnet averted her gaze-I suppose it's something I'll never understand-she commented.

-I don't think it's something you'd ever _want_ to understand anyway-said Galahad, and they both made childish gagging noises, laughing.

When the couple broke apart, Bors turned to the flock of children around them and scooped one up.-Gilly-he said-You've been fighting?-.

-Yes-replied the small seven year old boy proudly.

-You've been winning?-.

-Yes-.

Bors smiled and tapped his son's nose-That's my boy. Come all my other bastards!-. He pulled an arm around Vanora, and the children followed them cheering.

Devnet was going to help Jols settle the horses. She turned to her friends, almoust forgetting Arthur's favour-Hey, you lot!-she called-Arthur said you're to meet at the Round Table before you run off to the tavern-she smirked at their groans and shrugged-Commander's orders. Don't kill the messenger-she blew them a queenly kiss before walking _Cian_ to the stables.

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	12. VIII) Shattered Ilusions

**Hey everyone out there ! The chapter is now complete, so you guys can enjoy it fully in this very part. As always, let me know what you guys think ! Don't be shy ! It really means a lot to me 3 **

After washing herself and changing into skirts, in wich she felt oddly more comfortable, Devnet trotted excitedly to the tavern. The knights weren't there yet, but surely it was only a matter of time. She did find Vanora, surrounded by her tireless flock of children while she tried to work.

-Hello, pretty-she chipped cheerfully, scooping Ten up while Nine attached herself to her hip. Vanora lifted her head for a minute before sighting with relief.

-_Finally_-breathed the woman-Someone with some sense inside of them. I've been surrounded my idiotic girls all noon, who are much more intrested in discussing that bishop's guards than attending to their work-. The red-head hissed with exasperation, while looking around for something-Now where did I leave that jar…-.

Devnet handed her a jar just in front of her on the table-This one?-.

-Oh, right. Thank you, dear. As I was saying, all they do is gossip about one of those new centurions. Since they haven't succeeded in catching Lancelot's attention like before, they've turned their eyes on a new piece of meat_-Wysteria, Brigit! Go back to work now!-_see what I mean_?-Three! Do not pick on your brother!-_Damn it, to boot, this bunch are driving me insane-.

Devnet leaned over and grabbed her friend's wrist before she had a chance to turn-Hey-she said softly-Slow down. Breathe. Tonight is meant to be an instance for celebration. The men are finally been liberated!-she smiled excitedly, while rocking little Ten to make her laugh.

Vanora breathed in deeply and offered a faint smile-They really are, aren't they?-she commented with a soft tone while leaning to wipe of some substance from Gilly's mouth-After all this years of waiting…-suddenly her face suddenly paled, realising a very important detail-Oh my, if they drink like they're celebrating every single night, an actual celebration for that lot…Oh dear, they'll turn the place upside down! One. Go to the storage and fetch me as much barrels of ale as you can carry. Two, you go and help your brother, sweetie-she turned to look at Devnet-Brace yourself, we'll be dealing with some very drunk men tonight-.

-Oh, please, Van-Devnet placed Ten on the ground and grabbed the tray with drinks set before her-They are not that bad-.

The red-head gave her a pointed look-Have you forgotten that one time when they all vomited over each other and we ended up cleaning the puke off the table _and_ off _them_?-.

-Good point. I'll keep an eye on them-.

-Who are you keeping an eye on?-.

Devnet turned. The knights entered the tavern joking light-heartedly amongst them like Devnet had never seen them before. Freedom suited them well, she decided. She smiled at Gawain beside her. The blond man leaned over the counter and kissed Vanora fondly on the cheek.

-You wouldn't happen to have a mug of ale for some very tired men?-he asked innocently.

The tavern owner stared at him, trying to hide back a smile-As if I could keep any of you away from your drinks for more than five minutes-she placed three cups in front of Gawain-Here. Nwt get out, I've got work to do-.

Gawain flashed a gallant smile at her-You're a sweetheart, Van-.

-Hey, you ugly bitch!-Bors joined them and slipped a possessive arm around Vanora's hips-Stop flirting with my woman or you'll be flirting with my fists-.

Gawain rolled his eyes and smirked teasingly-Oh, watch how I tremble. Gods, a man can't be nice to a girl this days-he grabbed the drinks and took taking off to the table were Galahad and Tristan sat waiting.

Grabbing her tray, Devnet passed the drinks around before rushing to their table and flinging herself full force on her friends' backs-My favourite _free_ men!-she squeaked, clinging to them like a spider. The men spilled their beer due to the impact, and they shooed her off with playful complains.

-Anyway, we're not free just yet-commented Gawain, sitting back down and pulling the little brunette beside him in a friendly hug.

Devnet looked down at him with puzzlement-How so?-.

Galahad laid his cup on the table and smirked ironically-Well, you know Romans, they like to make a thing of themselves by making everyone wait around for their royal asses to feel like they're ready-he chuckled and sighted-Nah, the pope-

-_Bishop_-corrected Devnet.

-Couldn't care less. This man, he wanted a word with Arthur before giving us our papers. Apparently, it was an _"only-roman"_ conversation, since_ we_ were not invited-.

-What would've you wanted to stay for anyway?-asked Tristan. The taciturn man grabbed a knife from the table, pulled his arm back and threw it at a wooden target hanging from the wall-They're probably gossiping about the holy sins of the people at Rome-.

-Or discussing the best way to kneel and pray without peeling off their knees-added Gawain, and the three men chuckled.

Devnet rolled her eyes and nudged him, grabbing her tray-Stop mocking their religion. Its Arthur's God too, have respect-.

-Get out of here, mother-joked Gawain and he poked her side, causing her to yelp and run off, laughing over her shoulder. There was a sort of easiness in the air around her beloved men, as if they could finally breathe in deeply after holding their breath in for years. She felt light-hearted, dancing between the tables and simply taken enjoyment in watching them relax from the battle of their lives. Bors was making the baby jump in his arms, soothing him sweetly. Tristan, Galahad and Gawain were still throwing knives, in the company of a maid that alternated her attention between Devnet's two best friends. She didn't see Dag anywhere close, but Lancelot sat at a table with two other romans, playing dice, and probably loosing, judging by the way he nailed his dagger on the table in front of them. She saw her friend flirt unashamedly with Vanora before the woman slapped him and went back to work. The man turned to Bors, who glowered at him before examining the baby in his arm, as if looking for a trace of Lancelot's features in the child's face. Devnet stifled back a laugh. How Bors could still actually believe Van would ever agree to sleep with Lancelot eluded all possible explanations to her.

Smiling gently, she approached the table and offered the romans some more wine, bagging her eyelashes. Lancelot's reaction was immediate, pulling her back to sit her on his lap.

-Lancelot, please. Im working!-she giggled, trying to keep his face away from her own before he had the chance to kiss her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Galahad gagging mockingly and she turned to stick out her tongue at him. She tried to stand up, but he pulled her back down.

-Stay here and bring me good luck. This sorry fools are leaving me in the ruin-he nuzzled his face to her neck, kissing it lightly. Devnet giggled when his beard tickled her as usual.

-Have you ever considered the fact that _you_ might be a lousy player?-she laughed. She shrieked and twisted when the man tickled her in revenge.

-C'me here-he chuckled, grabbing her chin between his fingers and pulling her into a kiss. To this, Devy felt utterly surprised. Though everything had been sorted out with the other knights, they still kept their _"business"_ to themselves, partly because they were used to do so…thought they had to admit it made everything quite the more enticing. It sent a curious, different sort of excitement down her spine, making her heart leap with unexpected joy.

-Gods bless us, someone's moods seem to have improved with freedom- she teased, scratching at the scruff beneath his chin like she knew he loved. The man almoust started purring like a kitten.

In the knife throwing competition beside them, Galahad was staring at his clean throw with a pleased expression, until Tristan's knife landed right in the hilt of Galahad's. The boy pouted off annoyed, making both Devnet and Lancelot laugh.

-Tristan-Gawain was eyeing the target with intrest, while the girl with them massaged his neck-How did you do that?-.

The scout shrugged, taking a bite from his apple and pointing at the knives-I aim for the middle-he replied, matter of factly; causing her and Lancelot to break into a fit of hysterics again at Gawain's unamused expression.

-SHUT UP!-Bors's booming voice made Devnet flinch, and everyone stared at him wondering what he wanted-Vanora, will sing-he announced.

Everyone at the tavern started cheering immediately, while the woman tried to get away from the show with the baby on one arm, trying to refuse while she laughed at their insistence.

-SING!-bellowed men, soldiers, maids and knights at the same time. Devnet noticed Dagonet had finally showed up and was leaning against a column, smiling as Bors was pushing her to the middle of the circle of tables.

-Sing about home-suggested Galahad.

-Don't drop the baby-added Gawain, grinning when Vanora nearly tripped.

-_SING_!-.

Vanora shook her head with a resigned smile. The musicians had stopped playing, and the woman began to sing with her well-known lovely voice, while rocking the baby fondly in her arms.

_"Land of bear and land of eagle  
Land that gave us birth and blessing  
Land that called us ever homewards_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home…"_

As her friend sang the _"Song of Exile" _Devnet looked around her. The knights had fallen in a sort of trance, concentrating on the memories unchained by the song. They had longing plastered all over their faces in all sort of manners. She saw Galahad mutter the words of the song under his breathe, Tristan lowering his gaze in thought, Gawain staring blankly at the space before him. Dagonet's face was grave, and Bors was just standing in front of his lover, gaping at nothing. Beside her, even Lancelot seemed lost in his memories, while he rocked her between his arms almoust unwarily to the rhythm of the lullaby.

Until that point, Devnet felt she'd never truly been aware of how much these men missed their homeland, their freedom, but seeing their faces of shock, and melancholy, and hope all mangled up in one pure expression of longing, she realised it fully, and her heart swelled with tenderness.

_Land of freedom land of heroes_

_Land that gave us hope and memories_

_Hear our singing hear our longing_

_We will go home across the mountains_

Galahad's eyes were closed now, rolling from side to side, living his own memories inside his head. Lancelot was staring down almoust with sorrow. Devnet kissed his temple tenderly and leaned over to squeeze Galahad's hand with a comforting smile.

_"We will go home, we will go home…"_

-Arthur!-.

Jols broke the theatrical spell weighing over all of them. Galahad's eyes snapped open and he smiled, calling his commander's name and walking over to him. The others followed him to gather around Arthur.

-You're not completely roman yet, right?-she hear Galahad joke behind her. Bors chorused his statement with a fiery "RUS".

Smiling, Devnet stood up and went back to work, looking at the knights gathered with fondness. She did not join them, deciding she had no place in that moment between Arthur and his knights. She didn't mind, though. She felt proud. The woman stepped behind the counter to clean the empty mugs, chatting animatedly with Prya beside her.

Suddenly, Bors shout wounded the peaceful atmosphere, making her drop the mug she'd been holding. They clay crashed against the floor in a hundred pieces. In Vanora's arms, Eleven had started crying.

-IM A FREE MAN!-was howling Bors-I WILL CHOOSE MY OWN FATE-.

Uneasy, Devnet stopped picking the broken pieces from the floor and stood up, glaring at the group of men gathered on the far end of the tavern. The knights had their back to her, so she could only see Arthur's face. She did not like what she saw. Bitterness, gloom, sorrow. _A foul mix_ she though. Tension had replaced the peace in the air, and was hovering over the men like a bad omen. What on earth was going on?

Tristan said something, and then Galahad was screaming in reply, everything in his attitude shouting danger-LISTEN, IF YOU'RE SO EAGER TO DIE YOU CAN DIE RIGHT NOW!-he bellowed, pointing at the scout.

-Enough, _enough_!-Lancelot pulled him apart tiredly. But Galahad was nowhere close from done.

-I'VE GOT SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR!-there was pain and fury in the young man's voice, and it made Devnet very, very afraid, not of him, but for him.

Bors was pacing a few feet away, like a caged animal. Dagonet said something to the group and then walked off in the quarters' direction with Tristan. When the giant man passed beside his best friend he stopped and asked-Bors. You coming?-.

Devnet's heart leaped in fright C_oming where?_

-OF COURSE IM COMING-replied the man-CAN'T LET YOU ALL ON YOUR OWN, YOU'D ALL GET KILLED!-he looked back at the group with rage-IM JUST SAYING WHAT YOU'RE ALL THINKING!-.

Her attention went back to the remaining knights when Galahad spilled his wine intendedly at Arthur's feet with disgust and then smashed the flask furiously against the floor before walking off, followed by Gawain.

With that, Arthur left without one more word, and not even a glance in Devnet's direction. Lancelot froze for a minute before following him silently, not looking over his shoulder either. Now sure something was awfully wrong, Devnet left the counter, caressing little Eleven's head when she stopped in front of a very preoccupied Vanora.

-Don't worry-she told her friend-I'll see what's going on-.

She crept behind Lancelot's shadow, keeping herself to the darkness in the corners and taking care not to make a single sound with her steps. The knight was following Arthur towards the stables. She glided through the shadows to arrive ahead of him and be able to sneak in unnoticed. It shouldn't provide much of a challenge. She'd been eavesdropping since childhood. Sometimes, it had been the only way to find out what was going on around her.

Sneaking inside a horse's box turned out to be harder than expected. A quick peek inside informed her that way was definitely out of question. Devnet did know of another one but the last time she'd used it, she'd been eight years old. She sighted with exasperation. The things I do just for sticking my nose in business Im left out of. Around the corner, at the feet of a lateral wooden door, was a small gap in the dirt, probably dug by a dog Gods knew how long ago. The space between the floor and the wood planks was wide enough for a tall child to slip in, and since Devnet was more or less the size of a child, she managed to squeeze through, though it wasn't too enjoyable. She was covered in dirt, probably with spider-webs in her hair, and she nearly choked trying to hold back a sneeze. But she was in. Knowing that they could still see her at any moment, she crawled to the nearest compartment and quietly climbed in. She had to stop right as she was dragging one leg inside because the wood creaked painfully beneath her. Im certainly out of practise she grunted mentally, staying as still as a stone despite her uncomfortable position. But Arthur was too busy tidying some saddles to have heard anything, and she finally managed to get her whole body inside the box. Gods, getting there had been quite the adventure. Sighting, she knelt by the door, quietly soothing the horse beside her, and listened.

At first, all she could hear was a low rumble of words, muttered fastly. It sounded like a prayer. The girl peeked through a small crack in the wood and could just make out Arthur's figure, kneeling in a prayer. At the same time, a set of muffled footsteps caught her attention.

-Why do you always talk to God and not to me?-Lancelot's unmistakeably resentful voice demanded from the shadows. The knight stepped into the limited range of vision provided to her by the gap in the door.

Arthur had turned to look at his closest friend.

-Well, pray-Lancelot went on-To whomever you pray that we don't cross the Saxons-.

Devnet began sucking nervously at the tip of her thumb. Her encounter with Dryscoll weeks before came rushing back to her. He'd mentioned a horde of Saxons gathering in the North. It certainly couldn't be a coincidence that Lancelot mentioned them now.

-My faith it what protects me, Lancelot. Why do you challenge this?-Arthur protested with clear hurt in his voice. Devnet momentarily distracted herself from the graveness of the situation. Gods, when will he stop attacking the poor man for being a roman? How two men as different as summer and winter could be so close didn't make any sense to her. Especially considering they argued over their different believes more often than not.

-I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees-.

-No man fears to kneel before the God he trust. Without faith, without hope, what are we?-.

Oh, these two are hopeless. How many times have they covered this matter? I want to know what in the name of all the Gods is going on!

As if listening to her thoughts, Lancelot drifted back to the apparently real matter of importance.

-To try to get past the Woads in the North is insanity-he pointed out, fighting to hold back his anger.

-Them we've fought before-replied Arthur.

-Not north of the Wall!-.

Lancelot disappeared from her vision for a moment before reappearing in front of Arthur. From what little Devnet could make out, the sarmatian was pissed off and frustrated, while Arthur remained nerve-rackingly calm, wich only managed to anger Lancelot more.

-How many Saxons? Hum?-he demanded, nodding impatiently in the commander's direction-HOW MANY!?-.

Arthur didn't answer, to wich Lancelot only breathed in, deeply altered.

-Tell me-he pushed on-Do you believe in this mission?-. Something in his tone gave Devnet the feeling that he actually wanted to believe Arthur's words, to share his conviction on whatever it was that troubled them, but deep inside he knew he couldn't.

-This people need our help-Arthur sounded determinate-It is our duty to-

Wrong words. If there was one thing Lancelot hated was when they referred his situation to a "duty".

-I don't care about your charge!-he spat, with his classical voice of despise-And I don't give a damn about romans, Britons or this island-his voice lifted to an angry rage, talking rapidly-If you decide to spend eternity in this place, Arthur, so be it. But suicide cannot be chosen for another!-.

-AND YET YOU CHOSE DEATH FOR THIS FAMILY!-.

-NO I CHOSE LIFE! AND FREEDOM! FOR MYSELF AND THE MEN!-.

The girl flinched when they started shouting, their voices echoing on the stable walls. She stifled a moan of anxiety, starting to bite at her finger.

-Tell me-Lancelot's tone dropped to a bitter one again-When we all fall up in the north, whose gonna tell petite how we've left her without a single friendly soul in this world? We're everything she has left in this damn Gods' forsaken life and yet you haven't even thought of her yet, have you?-.

At the mention of her name, Devnet's hands started shaking with absolute panic.

Lancelot panted with frustration, and again moved out of sight. Then Arthur spoke, somewhere to his left, where his friend probably sat.

-How many times in battle have we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat? Out-numbered? Out-flanked and yet still we triumph?-.

Lancelot did not replay. He was probably still too angry.

-With you at my side-Arthur went on-We can do so again-.

Devnet pressed her lips together. She could sense the desperation in Arthur's tone too. He as well was preoccupied, and he wanted nothing more than to count with his best friend's support. Devnet couldn't even imagine those two apart. Brothers. Brothers from different parents, but from the same heart. There was not one without the other. She knew that bond was from where both men drew their strength in battle.

-Lancelot. We are knights. What other purpose do we serve if not for such a cause?-.

She heard the dark knight sight and then say with sad resignation:

-Arthur you fight for a world that will never exists. Never. It will always be at battle-field-he was on his feet again. Devnet could see him now. But for a moment she did not know such man. Or maybe that was the real Lancelot whose shadow she sometimes caught a glimpse of in the depths on his dark eyes. He looked tired, old and defeated. And most of all, hopeless. It nearly crashed her heart.

-I will die in battle. Of that Im certain-he nodded with an absolutely sure expression on his face. Not sad. Not even resigned. Merely honest. Perhaps that was the worst of all.

At that, she shoved her whole fist in her mouth, biting hard at her knuckled to keep herself form sobbing. How could he say that? How could he be so convinced of such fate? How could anyone break someone to a point of being certain of his own death? And this was no ordinary man. He was the man she….she…

-And hopefully-he continued, though Devnet was quite sure she did not want to listen anymore-It'll be a battle of my choosing. But-his voice faltered ever so slightly, in a gesture so unlike of him-If it be this one, grant me a favour. Don't bury me in our sad little cemetery-.

The image in Devnet's head, of Lancelot laying between the graves of Kay, and Morderek, and Percival and so many others who had fallen; of her own father, made tears cover he eyelashes.

-Burn me. Burn me and cast my ashes to a strong east wind-.

To Sarmatia she realised. To his home. And his freedom. She blinked, and a single pair of tears serpent down her freckles. She dried them off quickly, stood up and opened the door.

-Why would he do such thing?-she demanded out loud.

Both men flinched and turned their heads to her, surprised and slightly scolding her, for they realised immediately she'd been eavesdropping. But none of them said anything. Arthur simply stared at her sadly. Lancelot was still angry.

-Why. Would. He. Do. That?-she repeated with harshness, marking each word with a clenched a fist at her side-Huh?-.

Still they remained silently. She covered the distance that separated her from the two most important men in her life. She pushed back the sleeves that had slipped down her shoulders in her sprout of bravado, but they only went down again, exposing her shoulders as pale as moonlight. She ignored it, crossing her arms over her chest.

-Well? Wich of you is going to tell me what the fuck is happening? –she couldn't control the anger that was starting to boil at the pit of her stomach for being excluded-What is all this talk of battle and Saxons?-.

Finally the men seemed to sprout back to life. Lancelot jumped over the wooden bar that separated him from Arthur and started walking off. He stopped beside her for only a moment to snarl through gritted teeth:

-Let the commander tell you-he spat with contempt before storming off, leaving nothing but the weight of his anger.

Devnet's eyes followed him for a moment, lips slightly parted in surprise at the harshness in his words before turning back to the roman in front of her.

-Arthur?-her voice faltered. She stepped closer, with a pout of concern. She extended a trembling hand and slowly laid it upon the man's sombre cheek-Talk to me-.

Her friend sighted with a weight of many years, grasped her little hand and clutched it between his own, the calloused palms rubbing against her skin with tenderness; like an older brother holds her younger sister in the dark.

-Come-he placed her hand around his arm-Walk with me. I will tell you everything-.

Devnet would rather not walk but have him tell her everything right on the spot, but something in Arthur's horribly tired eyes that both scared her and moved her made her do as he wished. At least he didn't make her wait long.

-Rome has decreed a final order for the men before their freedom is given to them-.

-What!?-.

Arthur sighted-As you heard. They're sending us North, to rescue a roman lord whose lands lay beyond the Wall. We are to return with his son so the bishop can take him back to Rome. Only then will my men be free-.

Devnet felt unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to feel. She backed away from Arthur, hugging her frame with her arms. Her mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to say:

\- No…No!-she lifted her gaze from the floor to his face with big, vulnerable blue-brown eyes-They cannot do that. No! They…they can't. No….-she shook her head, crossing her palms over her mouth before whispering-Please Arthur…they can't just change things like that…can they?-.

The sole look in his face was enough for all manners of answer. Anger and pain washed over her in equal parts, she couldn't even distinguish one from the other. She nearly choked trying not to cry.

-As long as the discharge papers are in the Bishop's power, he had every right to command-

-No! No he doesn't!-she cried, pressing her lips together with sudden fury-He never did! Not him, not the Pope, not a single power from Rome or any other place in the world for the matter. They were unfairly imprisoned to this …this duty. Torn apart from their home, from their loved ones, from their freedom! They took their lives! For what…war? death? Arthur! Open your eyes! Rome has no right, expect for the one they invented. Besides. Why, in the name of the Dagda, can't they send a legion of their own men to escort such important boy?-.

A savage beast was about to be unleashed from within her, and it was taking all of her efforts to hold back her blind rage. A wild sense of protection over her men's happiness invaded her heart, and she could not believe that Arthur was taking such thing so lightly.

-Your romans are worth nothing-.

-Saxons are invading Britain, Devnet-the man grabbed her shoulders, shaking them as if trying to knock some sense inside of her-Now, you can hate Germanus as much as you want, but this is an innocent family. You'll have us leave them at the hands of an entire horde of enemies who will not hesitate to murder each and every one of them?-.

Out of breathe. That was how Devnet felt. Dryscoll's words, like a prophecy, were coming back to her, becoming true. Like they had always been, only she, idle as she'd been, had decided to ignore them. She covered her mouth, as tears welled behind her eyes.

-Saxons …my grandfather was right….-she muttered, more to herself than to Arthur.

-Your grandfather? What does Merlin know of this?-.

She told him everything, from the Woad leader's visit in Samhain eve and Dryscoll's warning during her patrol with Dag and Tristan. When she finished, Arthur shook his head and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hand, sighting with exhaustion.

-You should have told me, Devy-he reproached her, though not stern.

-I know, I know. I acted like a foolish child, I should've know better. Im sorry-.

Arthur laid a hand over her shoulder-Well, I doubt it would have been any different-.

-You're right-she pushed his hand off-Nothing can change the fact that these men are only pieces of Rome's game-she let out a nasty breath and then runned a hand through her hair-We leave at first light, then?-.

Something crossed Arthur's face when she said that. Something she did not like at all.

-You're staying at the fortress-.

The woman felt the ground was taken away from beneath her feet. Her whole world span and she merely stared at him with wide eyes before saying:

-You must be joking-.

-No-Arthur shook her head sternly-You will not go, and Im sure all the men will agree with me so don't even try to talk them into convincing me otherwise. I cannot risk your life. I have enough with them. It's too dangerous. No, don't say anything. Listen to me. I know you can fight, I know you have courage. I know maybe we'd have more chance of passing the Woads in the north with you. But I don't care. None of that is worth your life. Not when a horde of Saxons might be marching our way. You'll be safer her. And myself and the men shall be more at peace-.

Devnet clenched her hands into fists, fighting the urge to hit him. She was angry. With Arthur, with Rome, with that damn bishop and with fate's itself. She turned and walked away without a word. Deep inside she knew she was being unfair, that Arthur was not to blame and had little control over the situation. He certainly was not happy with it either. But still, he was so convinced that despite the ugly of the situation, it was somehow right. What did he care so much about a roman boy? Sure, Devnet wished that family no ill, but her men's well-being was much more important to her. She could not bear to watch Arthur, who believed in the same people that condemned her men. And to leave her behind…how could he do that to her? How could they do something like that? She'd fought alongside of the knights since she was old enough to kill a man. And now…she wasn't sure whether she'd be able to stand staying behind, wandering what horrors her beloved men would face north of the wall. Fearing she'd loose them without even getting the chance to say goodbye.

She didn't even notice when the tears had started pouring down her face. From a moment to the next, her cheeks were wet and sticky, her eyes burned and an ugly lump in her throat made it hard for her to breathe. She wandered in search of empty streets and halls where she could mourn in fear of losing everything she held dear. She ran, and stumbled, and ran again until she could go further no more, holding her body against a wall and finally sinking to the ground in a mop of sobs.

-Ah, I knew you'd find out soon, one way or another-.

She jumped when Tristan appeared out of the shadows and sat beside her, a mug of wine in his hands. Devnet dried out her tears with haste and stared at him. That man would always elude her comprehension. She could perfectly see through Galahad's hot-head behaviour to the emotional boy inside him, or understands Dagonet's reflexive silence of enjoyment. Hell, she could even trespass Lancelot's dark, sardonic character; but of Tristan she only knew the parts that he showed her. And only in the ways he wanted her to know them. The rest was a mystery, perhaps never to be fully uncovered.

-You don't look much affected-she said, breathing in deep to ware of the tremors of her previous crying.

-Im mad, just like the others, with the romans for breaking their word and extending the contract longer-he took a swallow of his ale-But they're the kind of filth you can't just swipe away, so why waste my breathe in idle complaining?-.

-But aren't you afraid of dying? Just when you are to be liberated?-.

-I've been doing this all my life, Devnet. It's what I do, like it or not. To fight. To kill. It's what I was trained for. To get the work done. I'd have to be a fool to not be scared, but fear doesn't matter to me. I do what I must…and then…we'll see-he finally stopped looking at the wall in front of them and turned to her, with the faintest shadow of a grin-Besides, you can't liberate what's already free-.

She understood him. Tristan was untameable. If the romans had turned him into their knight, it was only because he had allowed it. He could make himself disappear forever, but if, by any ill chance, was he found again, Devnet knew he could take his life rather than give it to the romans. The reason, however, of why exactly he had decided to stay as a knight, was yet another secret of his nature.

She smiled weakly and cried in a voice with the fear of child:

-Don't let them die in chains-.

-None of us will-.

After thinking it for an instant, Devnet shyly snuggled beneath the distant scout's arms and hugged him. At first he tensed, but then, ever so slowly, he held her.

Devnet did not encounter any other of the men that night. They'd vanished to the corners to deal with this new orders in their own way. She did worry about Galahad in particular. Being the closest to him in age, she could perfectly imagine how he was feeling. Not to mention she knew him. Hopefully, he wouldn't commit anything stupid that night.

She wandered like a ghost through the halls at the knight's head-quarters, dragging her feet over the cold stone floor wearing nothing but her night-gown. She'd tried to sleep, but the anguish gave her no rest. Instead, she ended up, inevitably, in front of Lancelot's door. She opened it only enough to take a peek inside and slipping in once she made sure he was there. She'd had faith that she'd find him alone.

Lancelot sat at the edge of his bed, staring into a fire that had long worn out. When he heard the sound of the door, he turned to look at her. They exchanged glances, telling each other everything that needed to be said with just one stare. The man sighted heavily and pulled back the furs of his bed beside him.

-Get in-.

She nearly ran to refuge herself between the sheets, pulling the covers over her body as if the air could freeze her, and nuzzling as close as she could to Lancelot beside her. His arms snaked around her and pulled her close to place a kiss at the top of her head.

-It's all right-.

-No, its not-she cried against his shoulder. The tingling in her eyes was back and she lifted her face to him-I know-she muttered –I know you hate tears but I…I want...I need…-she trailed off.

Lancelot looked at her begging little face destroyed by pain and breathed deeply, nodding.

-Cry, then. You know I'll still be here-he laid a last kiss on her temple before she started sobbing quietly with her face buried at the crook of his neck. The situation remained Devnet of the times after her father's death, when she'd been haunted by nightmares every night, waking up screaming and crying. Every time she did, one of her knights would enter her room immediately and hold her until she fell asleep again. Lancelot had been the one that did so more often, and stayed with her until dawn, until his neck and shoulders were soaked with her tears.

Just like he did that night.


	13. IX) The Lady Knight

**Heeeeey my lovelies ! Finally my computer is fixed and I can upload the newest chapter. As always, please comment and vote, because it really motivates me, and I love to know what the readers think of how the story is coming out. And now, here you go :D **

She woke in her own bed the next day, thought she had no memory of how she'd gotten there. Her face was sticky with the last trails of tears. She pulled her hair from her face and rubbed the sleep from her swelled eyes. She searched around her bed for Lancelot, though knowing he was obviously not there. Dawn had broken in the sky not long ago, she observed when opening her window for some fresh air. That was unusual. She was not a morning person. But something at the back of her mind had woken her up, like a warning. It was that blessed moment right after sleep in which the disgraces of the waking hours had not yet returned. But as always, it could not last.

The knights.

She sprung from the bed and pulled a dark green gown, the first she could find, over her head before rushing outside. She hadn't even bothered in putting shoes on, paying no mind to the morning chill. The mud was frozen beneath her bare feet, her pants came out in small clouds of condensed breath. If some of the morning wakers in the village were surprised in seeing a young maid running, with her skirt blown back to expose her taunted milk-white legs, with messy hair and a wrinkled dress, she didn't even stop to care. Her heart threatened to cease its beating when she found the stables empty. Panic froze her insides. Her feet raced to the northern gates of the Wall. Surely they hadn't left yet. They would at least wait to say goodbye... She arrived at the courtyard just as the clouds of dust from the horses hooves cleared away. She searched the faces of those around her. She saw Vanora by the other side of the gates of the yard. The red-head shook her head with a sad smile.

Devnet gasped-No!-. She gathered her skirts and climbed the stairs to the top of the Wall, two at a time. A roman soldier turned to her with surprise and extended his hand to retain her.

-My lady, what are you-

-Out of my way!-she cried, pushing him away with desperation. She dodged between the centurions and leaned half of her body to look over the border of the Great Wall, standing on her tiptoes. Across the wild lands north of the Wall, she could just make out ten horses riding away. Arthur and his knights. And she was staying behind.

-They didn't even give me the chance so say goodbye-she whispered to herself. The wind blew her tears away. She cursed them, and Rome, and the Gods for their cruelty. Fate laughed at her tears and there was nothing she could do to avoid it, save for praying that her men, her family, was returned safely to her.

-My God guide their steeds-. The bishop stepped beside her, dressed in rich robes of red and gold. He lifted his hand over his head and made the sing of the cross to the departing riders. More than a blessing, it looked like he was condemning them. She glared at him coldly and said nothing. The man actually had the nerve to lay a hand over her pale shoulder.

-Don't worry. I can see that you are well tended and entertained while your knights return. Perhaps it's better that way...yes. After all...such situations are not fit for a proper lady, are they? Tell me, child, how would you like to become my apprentice? I could introduce you to the elegant costumes of Roman society and lead you down the true path of God. Such lovely flower as yourself should not be allowed to wither and die in the matters of war -.

Devnet did not like the way his hand lingered upon her forearm, nor de stony set of his eyes. Yes. That man was definitely not of any sort of God. And a coward. Now that she was not surrounded by her Sarmatians, he thought he could step in and entice her. She backed away, shaking his hand away with recoil, and then, much to the bishop's astonishment, spat at his face.

-I want nothing from a scheming viper like you, roman-she hissed. Grabbing her skirts once more, she descended the stairs. No one stopped her, though she should have been arrested for such insolence. However, by the time the centurions had dropped out of their surprise, she'd lost herself inside the village. She'd taken a decision. There was no way she'd stay in the Wall, consuming herself with worry and with the shadow of the bishop at her heels. She was a knight, if not by charge, by spirit. And she belonged with her brothers. She had to be careful, though. If Germanus so much as heard a whisper of what she planned to do, he might order the guards to lock her up. The man had cast his eye on her, of that there was no doubt. He would not let her escape after she'd stabbed at his pride.

She paced around the quarters as discreetly as she could, smuggling her weapons and supplies to the stables by hiding them at the bottom of a basket filled with dirty clothes. She hid them in Cian's box, hoping the horse wouldn't accidently step on her bow and arrows. She decided the best time to leave would be in the late evening. If she presented herself at the gates in the middle of the night the guards might suspect. Besides, she usually went for an evening ride on her own through the fields to breathe fresh air and enjoy the dusk absentmindedly. They would assume this was just another of those rides. The day seemed to want to go on forever. With her nerves on edge, every activity was a torture and a waste of her time. Her fingers were numb and useless. Her muscles were idle and she dropped everything she carried. Her mind was elsewhere, riding through some faraway hills to the North with Arthur and the Sarmatians. And every time she looked over her shoulder, she had the feeling that the eyes of the Bishop followed her, though she knew she was being paranoid. She had offended him, not committed murder. Well, save to his dignity.

After what seemed as the longest day of her life, she entered the stables struggling to her despreoccupied appearance, though she felt like she couldn't look any more guilty. A long, broad dark cloak covered her entirely, the hood falling across her back while she saddled her horse. She'd been thinking all day for a way to hide her weapons and such thinks as the bags of supplies that would look quite out of place for a simple evening ride. The cloak was, in the end, her best chance, though it was slightly too ostentious for her liking. Should anyone ask about it, she would simply have to say she was feeling particularly cold, and pray to the Gods she sounded believable. It was quite a fuss mounting dressed like that. Besides she had to figure out a way to conceal the outline of her weapons beneath the cloak. Riding with a bow and a quiver full of arrows precariously balanced between her thighs was no easy thing, mind you. It nearly made her question whether if accompanying the men was actually worth the trouble. The answer in her head was an immediate yes.

She breathed in deeply, and leaned as much as she could to pat her horse's neck, breathing in his scent to find courage.

-Well, boy-she whispered-Let us pray the gods of war, protection and fortune; because now we need them more than ever-with said words, she gently pressed her heels against the horses flanks, only hoping she was not going heads-first into the worst mistake she could've ever made.

Her heart was mad inside her ribcage, she was sure the roman guards at the top of the Wall in the North Gate, looking down at her, could here it's beating.

-My Lady?-the centurion called to her, leaning slightly to look at her-What business could you possibly have north of the Wall? It is a dangerous place, especially at nightfall, and for a lady such as yourself-

-Don't be ridiculous. I've been taking evening rides since I learned to climb on a horse-she cut him off, struggling to sound proud and indifferent to his words, as if she was already convinced that she'd get what she wanted in the end. Both men looked momentarily at each other and then the second stepped beside his companion to look at her; their helmets catching the bloody red light of the sunset.

-With all due respect, Lady Devnet. It is one thing to ride south of the Wall by night. Beyond, this gate, however, you know it's quite different. It is Woad territory. For your safety, it is preferable that you remain here-.

The young girl had no need of pretending to look exasperated. This was proving to be frustrating and her patience was running thin. With s set expression on her face, she pulled her reins tightly around her fists, causing Cian to lift his head abruptly and prance around, clearly nervous. -Listen now, you two-she cried to lift her voice to them; sharp and commanding

-I appreciate de gesture, but my safety is of my own concern only. You forget who I am and who my grandfather is. The Woads will not harm me. You will open these gates for me and let me ride nearby in peace, or else you will find yourselves against Commander Castus's wrath-.

One of the guards tilted his head, clearly astonished that such small and seemingly delicate little girl would talk to him in such manner. He looked at his mate over the corner of his eyes. The companion leaned to whisper something nervously in his ear. A smug grin played over Devnet's lips. With so much as a whisper of the name "Castus" and she'd wrapped them around her finger. After a short discussion in low voiced, both men turned to her, clenching their teeth.

Devnet crooked an eyebrow-Well?-.

The older guard breathed in deeply, eyes closed, and then turned to the other.-Open the gate, Icarus-.

The boy scurried off to the machinery room, to pull the heavy counterweights that opened the lateral door for people on foot or a single horse. The other stayed a top of the Wall, looking down at Devnet as if trying to regain his superiorness.

-You have until nightfall, my lady. Once the sun sets to the West you must have returned, otherwise I will send someone to fetch you, by force if necessary. For you own safety, my lady-he added hurriedly, afraid that he would get into trouble with Arthur for speaking so bluntly to her.

A low grumble shook the ground, followed by pained moan as the gate swung open ever so slowly, it's hinges hissing as they burst into motion after years of immobility. Devnet breathed in deeply resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to be certain that no one was behind to stop her, and urged Cian forward. She lifted her face one more time to look at the guards on top of her, before the stone ceiling of the gateway swallowed their faces. An then she had officially trespassed the borders of the Roman Empire, and she found herself in a land yet to be conquered, a land for the Free.

A secret rush burned deep inside her veins. When she was finally out of sight, she broke into a wild gallop, barely holding back the reins to allow Cian to soar the land as free as their spirit. Something secret, primal and euphoric grew inside her as she rode north, north and further north still. The knights were a day's march ahead of her, so there was no time to waist if she wished to catch up. The land disappeared beneath the white stallion's hooves. She rode across the stony moors, the hills that sometimes turned into small mountains of grass. She rode across streams of water, dark with the weeds growing beneath. She rode against the restless wind that raised from the West, bringing the voices of the wild to her. She rode to meet the call of her Gods that claimed the woad within her soul.

She could smell rain in the air, as a faint trail that itched her nose, of dust and humidity. The vast landscapes of Caledonia extended beyond her eyes, valleys of green and grey, covered in woods and rocks, and crowned by snowy peaks. The wild. The north. The land of Old. She was riding to the very heart of the Woad territory, and it felt curiously thrilling.

The sky had darkened above her, covering the world in a moonless night, by the time she finally reached the great forest which depths hid the Woad tribes. She eased Cian back to a walk as she ducked to enter the woods. The leaves of the birches, the aspens, the pine trees and the ancient oaks moaned and crackled against each other in an endless rattle against the wind. The night had turned everything into a world of blue, shadow, and black. Besides the furious rustle of the leaves, however, the forest was quite. Too quite. Cian traded cautiously down the narrow passages, his ears twitching in alert to any sign of threat. Devnet's breath came out in quiet gasps. Her heart was at the base of her throat. She was not sure if whether if she was welcomed in that realm.

Suddenly, a swift shadow jumped right across their path, dropping from the trees as light and silent as a cat. The horse panicked and backed away. She held the reins tightly in her hand until the leather burned her skin, making soothing sounds to her stallion. She straightened in her saddle and looked down straight into the eyes of Enyak. Her cousin looked somewhat greyish and ill, thought he was far from weak. A thick crust of dried blood covered his collarbone, were Arthur's sword had stung him about a day before. His hand was firmly clasped around the hilt off his axe. The other held a bow. His piercing hazel eyes, similar to their grandfather's, scrutinized her face with a stern frown over his mouth.

-Enyak-she finally said, unable to stand the silence between them any longer. She managed to calm her steed, and looked straight into the eyes of the Woad-You look better than you did the last time I saw you-she added, not knowing what else to say.

The man grinned somewhat wickedly- Every man looks better without a sword pointed at his neck-. He spoke proudly in Gaelic. Devnet wasn't sure if he even knew how to speak English-I was starting to wonder whether if you would eventually turn up. Of course, I should have known your loyalty to Artorius and his mean could never falter-.

Devnet pressed her lips together and she too spoke in the tongue of the Blue People-They have crossed the woods then?-.

Enyak nodded and again the corners of his mouth pulled backwards in a twister smile that made the young woman feel slightly uneasy, though she managed to conceal it. -Aye. We ambushed them a few miles from here, to the east-.

Devnet eyes widened in worry and she could feel the colour drain from her face. For a moment she was speechless. Then she managed to choke in a strangled voice-You did what?-.

The woad started laughing with mockery, amused by the panicked look in her eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and breathed in deeply before saying-Your love for these outsiders never ceases to amuse me, cous-he spat at her horses feet-Worry not. They were not harmed. It was only to scare them out of our territory. For some reason, Merlin wants them alive-.

-Grandfather? Why would he want such thing? And the Council of Elders has agreed to this?-.

Enyak shrugged-Probably not. But you that when the man has already made a decision, no one can stand against his will. As for his motives, I can only guess them. And so can you, I believe-he gave her a pointed sighted wearily, quite certain that the infamous Saxon invasion that seemed to real now have something to do with it. Perhaps Merlin hoped to join forces with the knights against their common enemies; it did sound like something Merlin would do. But she wasn't sure her friends would think the same. Besides, seven more against thousand could make little difference. She muttered a curse under her breath. This was not her problem.

-East from here, you say?-.

Enyak nodded, took a step back and pointed to one side, were a path so narrow it was barely visible, entered deeper into the woods-You'll find them at the end of this road, I think-.

-Taing mhór, cousin-she thanked him before urging her horse forward.

-There will come a time when the Woads and Artorius will have to fight together to defend this land, Devnet-. She turned to stare at him one last time. To her surprise, she found an almost benevolent expression on Enyak painted face. -And I hope you are around to see him-.

He disappeared into the forest, as if he'd never been there, leaving her thoughtful and confused.

The path proved to be more disorientating than expecting. Half a mile into the woods, Devnet found herself lost between the trees with absolutely no idea of where she was going. The tree branched now hang so low and intertwined with each other that she was forced to dismount and lead the way, holding the reins of Cian behind here. Surrounded by a wall of forest, the wind hardly blew in there, and the air was still and almost too heavy for her to breathe. Every nerve in her body was alert in search for danger. She was half expecting for a blood-thirsty Saxon to jump from behind every tree she passed to slit her throat, even though she knew the idea was absurd. Despite her distance from the Woads, she'd never felt unwelcomed in the Great Forest. But know she was under the impression every night shadow was a threat in that world of black and wood. A rustle of leaves made her stop dead on her tracks as Cian suddenly lifted his head, ear twitching, and emitted a soft neigh of alarm. She hasted to silence him, while looking around with her lips pressed together. It was not an animal, of that she was sure. It would not have dared to be so close. Someone was out there, hunting her.

Ever so quietly, she drew an arrow from the quiver at her back and left it resting against the string of her bow, ready to draw if necessary. She moved forward as slow as cat, taking care not to step on any twig or leave that would give her away. She moved with the forest, twisting her body so as to not disturb a single branch and make noise. The leaves slashed gently across her cheekbones for she tried to keep herself hidden amongst the foliage. The hair prickled at the back of her head.

_Behind you. _

She spun with incredible speed, but not fast enough. Her attacker had already and arrow aimed straight at the spot between her eyes and she stumbled backwards, landing harshly on the ground, biting at her lip by accident. A warm liquid trail slid down her chin as she looked up, heart caught up in her throat.

-It's me!-she panted in a high pitched voice-Tristan! Tristan, it's me!-.

The man stared at her for a moment, still pointing the arrow at her heart. His eyes glimmered viciously in the dark and his jaw was set, but he finally seemed to recognise and slowly, he lowered his bow. -Damn you, Devnet. I nearly killed you-he muttered; extending his hand to help her back on her feet-What the hell are you doing here?-.

The girl shook off the dirt in her clothes and secured the bow back around her shoulder, stepping aside to retrieve the arrow she had accidentally shot in her fall and that hand landed in a tree trunk. -Please, Tristan. You know me. Did you seriously expect me to stay behind and be fine with it?-she turned to him, grabbing Cian's reins.

The faintest ghost of a smile played across the scout's eyes, like the reflection of a fire. -No-he replied, sounding clearly amused. He scratched at the edge of his beard-Come then. Back to the camp-.

Devnet smiled and followed the knight in silence, feeling not so secretly pleases with herself that she'd managed to find them. Up ahead, she could just make out the faint yellow flicker of a fire, and she could hear loud, masculine voices laughing at each other. Without hesitation, she trailed behind Tristan into the camp.

-Well, look whose back!-cackled Bors, and everybody lifted their heads-Did ya' find anything to drive your arrows into?-.

Tristan shrugged with a grin-Not exactly. I did find our little tail, however-he moved to one side and Devnet stepped proudly into the light. The men's chuckled died away immediately, as they stared at her; some with amusement, others with surprise and one or two in particular, with clear disapproval. For a moment, no one spoke, and then Bors leaned to the fire and ripped off a leg from one of the rabbits that was roasting nicely over the flames.

-Here-he extended the meat to her-Have something to eat, lass. See if you can grow some bloody muscle in that scrawny body of yours-he grinned.

Smiling, Devnet took the rabbit from him, without minding the grease running down her fingers, gave sunk her teeth delicately in the meat.

-What are you doing here?-. Arthur was looking at her with eyes of ancient stone, unmoveable and unbreakable. The green in them glimmered coldly. -What are you doing here?-he repeated, with his Commander tone he rarely used-After I deliberately told you to stay in the fortress?-.

On the inside, Devnet flinched, but she showed no signs of it. Instead, she held her head proudly, challenging his stare. -You can order me whatever you like, Artorious, but in the end it is I who makes the decision of what to do with myself-she breathed deeply and looked around regally at all of them-I am one of you. I have never been left behind before and I do not see why this time should be any different. You should know, by now, that I would have followed you even if you had locked me up before leaving-a small lump formed in her throat and her voice faltered slightly-Y-you are my men. My place is with you, no matter where. You know you can ask anything of me, but this. I cannot bear to stay behind, not knowing whether if I am going to lose any of you on some faraway territory. If I have to choose between fighting danger by your side, or staying behind in the safety of a castle...then show me our enemies- a fire lit behind her blue-brown eyes, fierce and bold, and her plump little lips held a steady face of protectiveness.

With deep lines furrowing his brow, Arthur battled against her glare, trying to find a crack, a small fissure in her will through which he could trespass and convince her to go back to the Wall. But after a few minutes, it became clear he could find none, for his shoulders relaxed and his eyes dropped, as he sighted deeply and rubbed them with his fists.

-Knights?-he asked hoarsely, waiting for their opinion.

Gawain, closest to the fire, leaned over with a long stick in his hand, and stirred the burning firewood, adding another log. -What will you do anyway, Arthur? Tie her to your horse and drag her in chains all the way back to Hadrian's Wall?-.

Bors snorted with a chuckle-Now that would be something worth seeing-. Devnet made a rude face to him.

-She's one of us-boomed Dagonet, in his still; low tone-Part of us. Let her stay-he smiled warmly at her, the flames shedding light over the scar across his cheek.

-As if we could get rid of the bitch anyway-.

-What was that, Galahad?-Devnet crooked an eyebrow.

-Oh, shut up and sit down-the youngest knights moved aside and patted the floor beside him, smiling mockingly at her and ruffling her hair when she did so.

They turned to Lancelot then, whom, as usual, saved his opinion for last, always for the sake of being histrionic. The man rolled his eyes and made a heavy outbreath-Whatever I say clearly won't make any of you change your minds-he stated.

Arthur nodded and clasped his hands together, sitting back down-So it is, then-his anger seemed to wash away and he ended pulling out a soft grin at Devnet-You have quite an annoying way of getting everything you want, you know that, don't you?-.

The girl shrugged and smiled before pulling herself to her feet-A girl does what she can. I shall set up Cian for night with the other horses-she announced before leaving.

Everything had gone rather well. She had expected them to put up more of a fight. But it had been easy to convince Arthur, which only left Lancelot, but she'd known from the start he would be enraged. He'd never liked the fact that she joined them in their missions anyway. Just after she had pulled a mantle over Cian's body, she heard the stormy banging of heavy footsteps coming her way. Devnet rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting. Lancelot joined her by the horses short after, his face livid with his typical sombre anger

-You're going back-he hissed.

-No, I'm not-she replied calmly.

-Devnet...-he said with a warning tone.

-Lancelot...-she imitated him, managing to provoke him even more. His black eyes narrowed with hostility.

-Devnet, don't cross me more than what you already have-.

The girl bit at her lower lip and looked away, clearly annoyed. She started stumping at the ground with her foot impatiently. -Listen-she said finally-I don't care what you think. I just...I just can't' stand the idea of staying behind. I am fighter, a knight as good as any of you, even if though I am a woman. My place is here-.

-You're place is where you're safe, and that is certainly not here-.

-Well you've never put so much trouble before. What's so different about all of this, that's got the lot of you all twisted in a knot?!-.

Lancelot let out an exasperated groan and grabbed her forearms violently, shaking her. Devnet closed her eyes, feeling slightly dazzled.

-Devnet, face reality, for Gods' sake!-he cried-A horde of Saxons is at our doorstep! We do not want you near any of this!-.

-Let go of me-she snapped, freeing herself from his grasp-I know what we're up against, Lancelot! I am not idle. I don't want any of you near those bastards either, but well, here we are. All of us, and that's better than being apart. Besides, if everything goes well, will be back at the Wall with the stupid roman family before the Saxons get a glimpse of our horses' tails-.

-And if not? Huh!?-.

-Then we fight, isn't that obvious?-.

-NO! NO, IT'S NOT! DON'T YOU SEE?! WE DON'T WANT YOU TO FIGHT THIS BATTLE! I DON'T WANT YOU TO FIGHT THIS BATTLE! FUCK IT, PETITE! -Lancelot's face was contracted with anger, a mad glare beneath the shadow of his eyes-THIS IS A MISSION FAR MORE DANGEROUS THAN ANY OTHER WE'VE EVER FACED. YOU CANNOT RISK YOUR LIFE. YOU'VE BEEN FIGHTING FOR FIVE YEAR. WE'VE BEING DOING SO FOR ALL WHOLE LIVES!-.

-AND THAT MAKES YOU ANY BETTER THAN ME?-. -FUCK, NO! BUT YOU'RE MORE IMPORTANTE THAN ANYTHING ELSE FOR ME AND THE REST OF THE MEN! WE WANT TO PROTECT YOU AT ALL COSTS! I CANNOT LOOSE YOU! THIS A BATTLE YOU CANNOT FIGHT!-.

Trying to ignore the fact that his words thrilled her and set her heart into a wild fit of beats, she spun forward like a cat, ready to attack him. Before he had the chance to say something else, Lancelot found himself pinned to the tree behind him, his own knife protruding from the tree trunk holding his right , small as she was, looked up at him, breathing rapidly, her lips pressed together and her eyes glowing dangerously on her pale little face.

-Don't forget-she breathed fiercely, barely an inch away from his face-That I know how to take down a man twice my size-with that, she pulled the knife brusquely and handed it to him before stepping backwards.

Lancelot put it back at the place in his hip from where Devnet had drawn if from and looked at her with resignation, -You said you couldn't bear to loose me-the girl sighted, her anger subsiding-The truth is neither can I. Not you or any of the others. You're all I've got. And I will see you safe through this mess myself-. Lancelot lifted his eyes to the sky for a moment and then exhaled deeply, a small cloud of vapour escaping his lips. The man stepped towards her and finally covered the distance between them and took her face between his hands to kiss her ardently, with almost aching passion. Devnet rested her hands over his shoulder, gently pressing over his muscles to ease some of the tension away.

-What in the name of all the Gods am I going to do with you?-the man whispered after breaking apart, resting his forehead atop of hers.

Devnet drew a faint smile over her face and murmured back sweetly-For an instance, stop trying to find an answer to that question. The others gave it up a long time ago. I am quite the hopeless case-.


	14. X) Petite and Knights of the Round Table

**Heeeeey dearies! I know, I know, I took quite long. I hope from now on I can update more regularly, at least I promise to do my best n.n Well, as usual, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to vote and comment :3 **

_*eight years ago*_

_Devnet skipped across the hall, trying to keep her tiny white toes from touching the stone floor as much as possible, flinching at every small bite from its cold surface. She was only wearing her night-gown, but warm rays of sunlight streamed through the windows along the hall, announcing that the longed summer was finally about to arrive to the land. The girl's long brown hair bounced at her back with every jump. She was feeling particularly cheerful that morning._

_By the end of the corridor, she came across a pair of thick wooden doors, guarding the entrance to the sarmatian knights' common room. A somewhat mischievous smile playing over her rosy lips, the girl struggled with both hands to turn the heavy doorknobs as silently as she could, frowning with the effort, and opened the door barely enough for her slim frame to slip in, closing it without a sound behind her. The room had probably been a dining hall of some sort in the past, but now, two rows of beds occupied the side of the walls from end to end, leaving a pass way in the centre, and a narrow space between each of them. From within these beds, Devnet was greeted with the deep, rhythmical breathing of the knights, fast as sleep; and the occasional snores of a couple or two. Here and there, thick mops of hair raging from white golden to pitch black sprouted like weed from between the covers, sticking out in every direction, unkempt by the pillows over the night. The sleeping boys and young men offered such a peaceful image, it was only to be expected that it would not last much longer. _

_Devnet stifled a girly little giggle behind her palm. One of the boys had left a piece of armour lying around at the foot of their beds. The little girl bent over to pick it up, grabbing a small log from the pile of firewood by the chimney. She backed away until her back touched the doors, breathed in deeply and then lunched forward; hitting the metal with the stick and screaming as she soared throw the path between the beds. _

_-WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAAAAAAAAKE UP!-she cheered at the top of her lungs, giggling uncontrollably. The clang of the metal in her hands barely managed to mitigate the multiple groans and curses muttered from the beds. Some boys jumped and looked around in alarm, slightly disorientated. Others punched their pillows with their fist and muttered angry insults to the little girl. But most of them merely rolled over and pulled the covers over their heads. _

_When she reached the far side of the room, Devnet tossed her improvised instruments carelessly and climbed the first bed to her right, bouncing over the grumbling body of Bediviere. _

_-WAKE UP! WAKE UP, BEDS!-she cried, before jumping off to the next bed. _

_-For pity's sake, someone get her out and lock her inside a bloody cupboard!-._

_ -Devnet, cut it out! I'm already awake!-. _

_-Mhhm…five more minutes, Rayne…-. _

_-I am not your stupid Rayne, Morderek!-. _

_-Whatever-. _

_-Damn you, nagging little squirt!-. _

_-Geroff, imp!-. _

_Still giggling, she danced away, jumping bed after bed and on top of every boy or young man trying to conceal sleep again. Finally, when she happened to land on Lancelot's bed, his hand closed around the girl's tiny ankle and yanked her off her feet over the bed, indifferent to her small yelp. _

_-Stop your racket, dwarf!-he scolded before pulling the pillow over his head. _

_Recovered from her sudden fall, Devnet crawled across the bed and begun jumping again, this time right on top of him as she screamed at the top of her lungs. _

_-I said shut up!-Lancelot sat up straight and imprisoned her between his arms. The older boy began tickling her, holding back a smirk. He had surrendered to the fact that he would not get the chance to go back to sleep. Devnet squealed and kicked violently, shoving her fists up and about in air, completely out of her control. The little girl tried to pull his hands away from her belly, while trying to catch air between her giggles. _

_-S-s-toopit!-she cried with a smile showing all of her small white teeth. She managed to close her fingers around the pillow and smashed it against his face. The fabric probably got caught in a nail protruding from the wall behind them and it teared, realising a whole cloud of feathers that scattered around the room like flakes of soft, warm snow. The little girl gasped and immediately jumped to her feet and on to the next bed, it's occupant jumping out of the way just on time. _

_-It's snowing!-exclaimed Devnet, starting to spin with her arms extended as if embracing the feathers, and a dreamy smile across her face. Until Gaheris hit her with his own pillow just as someone else at the other end of the room cried: -PILLOW FIGHT!-. _

_The sarmatian's dormitory was converted into an authentic battlefield in less than an instant, in what started as a two side confrontation, but ended being everyone against everyone. The older boys, some of them already men and eager to get a room of their own, rolled their eyes and simply left towards the bathrooms, stretching their limps and yawning. They were much too old for such games. The rest, jumped from bed to bed and chased each other across the room, bumping, tripping and receiving square blows with a pillow. A storm of snowy-white feathers danced from side to side until they came to rest on the floor or the beds, only to be rise again into the air when one of the children passed by. Seeing such thing, no one would've believed those boys were already knights that at tender age had killed, and seen their companions fall in battle. The air rang with the childish laughter, their war screams and their coughs and sneezes whenever a plume went up their nose or mouth. Devnet had climbed a top of a wardrobe, and from that strategic vantage point was fighting against Morderek, Gaheris and Gawain at the same time, each hand holding a pillow. _

_-BAYARD IS COMING!-. _

_The alarm, thought well intended, came too late, for the sour old man who was in charge of the sarmatian's since Sir Aynor's death, cleared his throat with a piercing frown, standing at the doorway. The screams died out as the old stableman passed slowly along the hall, hands behind his back, eyes fixed forward, without looking at any of the now somewhat terrified boys. Every single one of them would rather face an entire army of Woads, completely unarmed, than facing the old groom's wrath. Without even being told, they parted to one side to make way for him, until Bayard reached the far end of the room, where Devnet still sat over the cupboard, pale bare feet dangling from the border and head against her head, fearing the upcoming scold. _

_-Devnet Allaine-Bayard's tone was flat and emotionless. _

_-Yes, sir?-came the feeble answer, hidden beneath the loose tendrils of her hair. _

_-Did you start all this? Did you awake the knights?-. _

_Devnet's voice quivered-Y-yes, Sir-. _

_-Does this behaviour belong to a good lady such as yourself?-. _

_-No, sir-. _

_-Do you think it's proper to do such thing?-. _

_-No, Sir-. _

_-And do you regret it?-. _

_A long pause followed Bayard's question, as the twelve year old girl weighted the consequences of her true answer. Despite the flame of fear inside her, a mischievous smile escaped her lips. After all, it wasn't easy to put out a little rascal. _

_-Well?-insisted Bayard-Do you?-. _

_-No, sir-. _

_The young knights held their breaths in awe. None of them would've ever dared to replay in such manner to the irritable warrior. He would've made untie their breeches and slapped their asses with a riding whip. But after what seemed an eternity, an amused smile appeared beneath the aged face, and Bayard extended his arms to help the child down. _

_-Ah, sometimes I forget many of you are still young. Much to young-he shook his head with a tinge of pity before clapping his hands together-All right!-he barked-Off to the baths, you dirty foals. If I see so much as a dirty finger at the breakfast table, that person we'll be spending the rest of the day as my personal servant!-. _

_The boys scurried away, laughing between their teeth before Bayard could catch them. Though strict and embittered, they knew deep inside their old leader was in fact benevolent and even fatherly. Still, while he was in a good mood, it was better not to take chances. _

_-As for you-Bayard turned to Devnet and pecked her nose slightly-Off you go. Put on a dress or…whatever it is you girls wear-. _

_-Yes, Bayard!-chipped the girl before running off, her long chestnut hair flowing behind her. _

_The groom watched her leave with a heavy sight. Aynor had died just when his daughter's life was about to get complicated, and he had no idea of how to guide children to adulthood, let alone a girl. For now, all he knew was that he couldn't allow her to walk around the boys in her sleeping gowns anymore. Some of the knights had already started noticing the little half-woad was slowly turning into more than just a girl. _

_-How long do you think they'll be gone?-Devnet asked her best friend, Galahad, as both children stood on their tiptoes over the Wall to watch the other knights march away. Being the youngest of the sarmatians, Galahad still had another year to go before finally going out with the rest to their missions. The young boy was eager for battle, unaware in his naivety, that it could not prove as exciting as he expected. _

_-I don't know-he sighted, resting his chin on the hard stone-They took ages last was getting bored. Watching the older boys ride away wasn't fun. It only remained him that he was still too young. _

_-I hope they're back soon-pledged Devnet, looking at the sky, where a lonely bird soared over the sun. Then she added in almost a whisper-And I hope this time they all return-. _

_Galahad shifted uncomfortably, remembering how they'd buried Bedwyr only a few weeks ago. He shrugged and took Devnet's small hand in his chubby ones. -When I'm a knight-he said solemnly-I swear that I won't let any more of them die-. _

_-And you!-Devnet added anxiously. _

_-Of course me too, silly. All of us. I promise we'll survive so we can all be together forever-. _

_Devnet looked at her best friend and smiled with matching determination, closing her free hand into a little white fist. -Me too! As soon as I'm strong enough, I'll learn how to fight and I'll go with you!-._

_ -But, Dev, you're a girl-he pointed out, confused. _

_-So what? The woad girls fight too. Since I'm half woad, I can be a warrior as well-. _

_Galahad pondered on that simple argument and not seeing anything wrong of false about it, decided it was enough for him. -We'll beat them all then!-he proclaimed, spitting in his dirty palm and extending it to Devnet. _

_-Yeah, we will-she looked from his face to his palm and gagged, backing away and sticking out her tongue-But yuk! I'm not touching your hand with spit like Gawain does! Ew!-. _

_*end of flashback* _

A urinated alley smelled bad. A piggery's scents could turn breakfast against one's self. But that fair morning, Devnet felt there was no fouler stench than the one emanating from seven horsemen who had not bathed in two days, at least.

-Holy Maeve-she groaned, pecking her nostrils shut, making her voice come out whizzy and nasal-When was the last time any of you went through water? Your smell could raise the dead from their tombs-.

The men allowed themselves to get distracted from their food and looked up at her sporting equally indifferent faces. They exchanged brief glances amongst each other and shrugged, snorting none gallantly., returning to their meal.

-Tah, why would we fuss over such thing?-Bors put a whole fist of cold porridge inside his mouth.

The Dagda and the Morrigan took pity on her, how could they eat with the sour, acid scent of their own bodies hunting them like a plague?

-We have no time to warm up enough water for all of us to bath-pointed out Tristan, treating her as if she'd clearly missed something obvious in the whole situation.

-So? There's a creek not a mile from here-.

Galahad snorted violently into his breakfast, smearing his beard in porridge. Wiping at the food in his face with the corner of his cape, he said: -C'mon Devnet. 'Tis well known that bathing in cold water weakens the body. Especially this close to winter-.

The others nodded in an approval so solemn it was almost comical to see. But with that smell suspended in the air like a dead animal, Devnet thought it rather hard to find anything amusing at all-Are you trying to tell me that seven full-grown, and hairy, deadly-skilled fighters who have survived one to many blood baths…are afraid of a bit of cold water?-.

The men exchanged uncomfortable glances, like children caught up in the middle of a secret.

-It's too cold to go around splashing in rivers-repeated Bors stubbornly, as if that settled the deal.

Devnet rolled her eyes and shook her head. -You lot are disgraceful-she sneered, before draping a cloth over her shoulder-Listen; I'm going to the creek because unlike you, I do have a sense of hygiene. I shouldn't take long-.

When she turned their backs to them and started to walk away from the camp, the knights exchanged wicked smiles; all sharing the same idea: the glimpse of little petite's pale naked body from between the bushes. Just as they started chuckling through their teeth, the girl whirled around at the last moment and narrowed her eyes, pointing a threatening finger at them.

-Should any of you be stupid enough as to commit the idiocy of spying on me while I bath…You shall find yourselves lacking the so cold gifted attributes that mark you as men tomorrow-she grinned coldly-Just because I bath naked, doesn't mean I bath unarmed-and walked away.

The water was bitterly cold. Devnet plunged into the deepest part of the creek, and a shriek escaped her lungs beneath the surface, in the form of bubbles. The cold bit at her bones with its icy razor fingers, making her teeth clatter tightly against each other. Pulling the hair away from her face, the girl decided to swim back and forth across the small pool to gain some warmth.

From the small leather pouch she'd left by the edge of the water with her towel, she took a small amount of a powder of crashed leaves and flowers. Mixing in with the humidity in her hands and a few drops of water, she formed a foamy substance from which emanated a soft smell, and began applying it generously over her body. Devnet has always enjoyed baths, even if the water was as cold as the one she was submerged up to the waist in. Her palms slid across the white surface of her skin, which felt silky with the contact of the foam. In a way, soaping herself always gave her some sort of sensual feeling. Not like pleasure. It a simple sensation of content with her body; she felt graceful, delicate and lovely, like a slim white flower. It made her confident in the fact that she was beautiful.

She grabbed her pumice stone and rubbed it against the areas of her skin she intended to maintain smooth and hairless, tracing slow circles over to remove the faint layer of hairs without scraping herself. The cleansing ritual ended with her hair, applying more foam to it and rubbing her scalp thoroughly with the tip of her fingers before sinking her whole body under water to rinse all the soap residues away. She'd become used to the coldness by then, and she swirled under the surface as gracefully as a merrow woman from the seas of Hibernia. When she reached the bottom of the pond, she turned and thrust her feet against the waterbed, propelling her body forward and emerging from the water in a shower of silver drops, the long wave of her hair tracing a sort of archway over her head.

-Well, won't you look at that now? The lassie's got quite a body, in fact!-.

A panicked shriek escaped the girl's throat at the same time that she turned with her heart caught up in her throat, and found herself surrounded by the knights, save for Arthur and Dagonet, staring impudently at her naked frame. She let out a second yelped and immediately sank her entire body back into the water.

-WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?-she shrieked, trying to look as furious as she could while trying to cover her chest and her privates with her hands. Her head barely poked over the surface, as she hunched inside the water, shivering.

Galahad knelt by the water, playing with a dagger in his hand, and smiled cockily at her-Ah! I knew you were lying about taking baths with your weapons at hand-.

The girl scolded him venomously-GO AWAY!-she cried to this unrequired audience-YOU PACK OF PERVERTED, WANTON, DIRTY, RUDE SEX FREAKS! GO AWAY!-.

-Holy cow-Gawain lifted his eyebrows, pretending to be shocked-Such language. I think I've never been called so many things in just want sentence in all my life-.

The little woman was so angry the water could've started boiling around her-SHUT UP, YOU PIG!-she looked at them with wide open eyes, not understanding why they were still there-WHAT ARE YOU WAITING GOR? GO AWAY!-.

Lancelot, whose frame had been draped carelessly against a tree trunk, stepped forward, unfolding his alms and grinned-You see, petite, us here-he motioned with his fingers at his companions-We've been thinking about what you said…about baths. Maybe you're quite right after all. We should bath-with said words; the man grabbed the laces of his breeches and started undoing them with absolute naturalness-Mind if we join you?-.

Devnet's heart nearly failed with panic. -N-NO!-she screamed, taking a hand out of the water as if pretending to stop him, but then quickly pulling it back when she realised she still had to cover her breasts-Don't you dare. I swear, if you so much as take one step closer to the water, I'll stick your swords up your arse, you son of a bitch-two bright red stains flowered in her cheeks-And that goes for all of you!-.

-What if we do not have swords?-Gawain asked innocently, fingering the hilt of the axe resting over his hip. The half-woad girl gave him a pointed glare, specifically to his weapon. The knight twisted his smile, and Devnet was quite aware she was in no position of doing threats. The cornered, naked person here was her.

Mortified, she tried to swim while covering herself as best as she could, to the far end of the pond, trying to find refuge behind some rocks. When she looked over her shoulder, their eyes were still upon her frame, even more wickeder than before.

-WILL YOU STOP LOOKING AT ME?!-she groaned exasperatedly, hugging herself to a rock.

-Why, lass, would we do such thing?-cackled Bors in his thick voice-You're unexpectedly pretty, well, at least to me. I bet the man-whore already knew that-Devnet saw him roll his eyes when Lancelot smirk crookedly.

-You could use a bit more meat though…you as skinny as a twig-.

-Thank you, Bors, for such crucial suggestion-Devnet replied sarcastically-Now could you lot please stop staring at me while I'm naked and go away?-.

For a moment, Devnet feared they'd decided never to leave the place, but whether if that was true or not, she never knew.

-What in the name of God is going on here? I can hear Devnet shout from-HOLY FATHER! Devnet! Cover yourself!-.

-Oh, right, Arthur. How did I not think of such thing myself?-she snapped acidly-I would do so, if I wasn't surrounded by these perverted pigs who won't let me out of the water-.

-Whose stopping you?-Tristan spoke for the first time, lifting a slightly amused eyebrow-You're free to come out-.

-Oh, naturally. So you can all see me as I came into the world, huh?-.

The scout shrugged-Everything has a price-.

-Enough-Arthur silenced him-This is unworthy of you, how-

-Arthur please-begged Devnet, nearly in tears-Really, it's fine. Just…could you all leave and allow me to dress in peace?-.

When she was finally free to get out of the pool, Devnet's lips were numb and dark purple; her fingertips were wrinkled like an old woman's face, and her skin has covered in goose bumps. Teeth snapping against each other, she pulled her clothes over her head, rubbing at her arms in a struggle to regain heat. She squeezed her hair to get rid of the water, cursing under her trembling breaths. It would be a miracle if she did not catch a cold.

When she returned to the camp, her forehead was frown into a resentful scout, causing the men to chuckle in amusement. Arthur noticed her apparent anger and approached her with a conciliatory smile on his face, laying a hand upon her small shoulder.

-Come now, Devnet. It was not that bad. You couldn't see a thing of your body-he said politely. Even the knights seemed to be surprised by the commander's reaction. Always the model of respect and morality by excellence, it was so unlike of him to take the present situation as a joke, like the rest of them had. Devnet was the most astonished of all.

-Ha! Now you defend those sons of bitches?-she whined almost childishly, turning around and making a pout.

-Well…-Arthur pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh-After you think about it…you have to admit it was sort of funny-.

Devnet gasped with indignation-It was not funny!-she looked around, incredulous to find even Dagonet was grinning slightly, while the others wore sly, playful smirks-IT WAS NOT!-.

-Yeah, it was-stated Tristan, without even lifting his gaze from the sword in his lap.

Devnet frowned her nose-¡No it wasn't!-Low chuckles inundated the air in the camp, as they started to laugh discreetly at the funny, childish tone in her voice. And despite her pride, the corners of Devnet's lips began to quiver.

-Fine-she hissed reluctantly through gritted teeth-I soppuse I did look quite ridiculous…oh, all right then. Maybe it was just slightly funny…-.

The men burst into a real fit of laughter without holding back. Devnet rolled her, shaking her head. She looked at Arthur, who was laughing as well beside her. She smacked the back of his head.

-Everyone talks about honourable commander Artorius, but the truth is you're as bad as any of them-she nodded towards the knights, and then smiled slightly-Well-she sighted, changing the subject-Are we ready to ride yet?-.

-No, one of the horses' is having trouble with a leg-replied Dagonet, in his thick, booming voice. Devnet's mind immediately emptied of all thought save for the ones concerning her beloved animals.

-What? Which? Is it bad? I have to-

-I shall take care of it, Little One. Worry not-the big knight-healer assured when he noticed her face-Really, Devnet. A horse is not so much different from a man. And I know how to tend both-He gave her his comforting, scarred smile, walked towards her and places a placid kiss on her brow-You have my word, the horse will be fine-he promised before walking away to tend his patient.

Devnet breathed in deeply, regaining her composure, and forced a smile upon her face, though part of her was still worrying over the wounded horse. -So-she said-Since we're not leaving just yet, could I go and collect a few wild berries I spotted on my way back from the creek? They're probably the last blossoms of the season-.

Gawain lifted his eyebrows-When have you ever asked for permission to do anything?-.

Devnet shrugged-Actually, you're right. I won't be long-with her last remains of her rage from a few minutes evaporating into the air, she strolled away singing cheerfully in Gaelic.

A few moments after she'd disappeared into the trees, Lancelot put down the dagger he'd been sharpening, and stood up, leaning backwards to make the numb bones of his spine snap. -I'll go stretch my legs-he announced with a wide smirk on his face. The knight rolled their eyes with knowing smiles.

Bors grunted, not humouring the idea as much as the rest a pointed a threatening finger in his friend's direction-Watch your ass, pretty boy-.

Lancelot let out a throaty laugh and slapped Bors's shoulder before leaving.

Lancelot's black curls covered Devnet's fingers like a million rings. One hand she used to grab his hair, the other clung to the knight's leather vest, eager to pull him closer. His lips were everywhere. Playing over her mouth, across her cheeks, biting at her earlobe or buried in the crook of her neck. Their breath came out in short gasps between one kiss and the other, mangling with their laughter as well. Devnet could feel Lancelot's grin every time before he pulled her into another fiery kiss. He was incapable of keeping his hands in one place. At times he wrapped his whole arms around that narrow waist, desperate to pull the girl closer. Others he slid his palms across the marbled skin of her shoulder; intertwined his fingers with the long waves of her hair, or cupped her face passionately.

He'd found her leaning over the meadow of wild berries, and after a moment of leisure admiring her minute figure from a distance, he crept from behind her, grabbing her waist and pushing her violently against the closest tree trunk, with her giggles tickling his ear cheerfully.

-You're getting awfully easy to sneak up on, petite. It's becoming boring-he teased with a playful smirk.

-Who said you caught me by surprised now?-she pushed him away with a smile, only to flung her arms around his neck and pull him back to kiss him.

The girl's breath started to come out in desperate, short gasps between every kiss, as she started to feel the increasing warmth of desire boiling from the pit of her stomach.

-Say, Lancelot-she whispered, out of breath while the knight spread kisses across her collarbone, causing her to moan slightly-How long do you think until they miss us?-she grabbed the curls at the back of his neck and pulled him up to look him in the eyes, pitch dark with the same lust that was pulsing through her own veins-Maybe we could…-she trailed off, smirking.

The dark knight chuckled, pulling her closer and dragging his lips across the outline of her shoulder-Ah, my love-he whispered in the same husky tone-I would like nothing more right now-as to chorus his words, he pressed his body against her, so she could feel the tension building between his legs-But I think Dagonet will not take much long in tending that horse, unfortunately-he groaned when she started to kiss his neck, digging his nails into the wood at her back.

-Too bad-Devnet purred with and irresistible pout, tracing his neck with her mouth, nibbling at his Adam's apple- So sad-.

-Fuck, petite-the man cursed at her seductive tones and movements against him, and chuckled hoarsely.

-If it makes you feel any better, my lord, I want you as much as you want me-she laughed, before offering her fruit flavored lips to him, kissing violently.

-I was not aware that berries had the ability to be collected on their own-.

Devnet winced and pushed Lancelot away in a reflex action, turning to look at Arthur like a rabbit cornered by a fox. The commander crooked and eyebrow and shook his head, smiling slightly. _Oh, right. He knows_ the girl remembered.

-You'd be surprised-she jested, blushing slightly.

Arthur chuckled somewhat awkwardly. Still not used to the idea of his best friend laying his hands over the girl he considered his little sister. Not to mention he'd walked into a scene no brother would particularly be eager to see. Shaking his head to clear of the image, turned to Lancelot, motioning him to follow.-Come, brother, we're finally ready to pack-.

Lancelot tousled his black ringlets to get rid of the leaves tangled in them and followed the roman, winking deviously at Devnet over his shoulder-You coming, petite?-.

-Me?-Devnet looked around, at the grass that was still red with the fruit scattered here and there-I'll catch up with you. Can't let all this sweeties to waste when snow arrives-.

The men chuckled and Arthur rolled his eyes-Your love for sweet things is becoming an addiction, my lady. And you've got something…here-he laid a finger over the corner of his own mouth. Devnet imitated him and wiped of a few drops of berry juice. She shrugged and stuck the finger in her mouth, giggling. The two men shook their heads and walked away, chatting animatedly.

Her pocket filled with the remaining berries she could find, Devnet ventured back behind Arthur and Lancelot. The camp was being lifted, and the small girl joined the caravan from the fireplace to the horses, packing everything to the saddles. On her third trip, she bumped violently against someone else, who let out a soft, docile gasp. The little half-woad, clutched at the forearm that had received the full impact of the collision, and eyed her obstacle slightly disorientated.

Germanus's servant looked back at her with an equally bewildered expression. The two stared at each other meekly, without knowing what to say or do. To Devnet, the man was completely out of context and she couldn't explain to herself why on earth was he actually with them. For Horton, he knew that strange woman who fought like a man did not fancy him. The feeling was mutual, for she was far too liberal and disinhibited for his liking. But he was not eager to cross her, since she seemed to mean quite something to Artorius and those rough barbarians of his, and Horton was frankly terrified by what sort of uncivilized tortures they could put him through.

-Excuse me-.

-Pardon me-.

The blurted out at the same time and again stared blankly as if the fact that they'd apologized at the same time was almost impossible. Horton's upper lip quivered like the nose of a rabbit. Devnet bit the inside of her cheeks. Finally, by silent, common agreement, they decided to continue each their own way rather than prolonging that awkward moment any further.

-Mother Margawse-Devnet muttered when joining Galahad on their way to their horses-I had completely forgotten that roman servant was accompanying us-. Her friend looked over his shoulder at the mild man who trailed back to the camp, alone and with his head down. Both Gal and Devy almost pitied him. He did look quite miserable.

-He's so out of place amongst us-sneered Galahad, finally shrugging his shoulders-But if this German-

-Germanus-.

-Whatever. If his sire doesn't trust us and feels like he's got to keep an eye on us, it's his own problem. What a bloody fooly. It is not like we're going to desert, as much as we want to-he chuckled coldly-Where would we go anyway?-.

Devnet nudged him with a playful smile-You don't fool me, Galahad, I know you better than your own mother. In the end, you're all doing this for your love to Arthur-.

-Yeah, well-Galahad smile-Sometimes friendship and loyalty are stronger than common sense-.

Devnet crooked and eyebrow with diversion-Common sense? Since when do you know such word?-.

They rode off with a heavy rain at their tails. By midday the sky threatened them from the South with big, fat clouds colliding tightly against each other in a canvas of grey and purple. The low rumbles of thunder chased them, along with the burnt smell of lightning in the air. The ground in that part of the forest was uneven and treacherous, filled with rocks and thick roots protruding from the side of the hills covered in trees and separated by narrow creeks that were more stone than water. A wrong step and the horses could snap a leg…in the best of circumstances. Obliged to go ride at a shallow pace, there was no chance of reaching the roman state before nightfall. Which meant another night out in the open…and probably a very wet one.

-We should slow down the pace and concentrate on finding some sort of refuge, Arthur!-she cried to the commander-That storms looks like trouble, and it'll soon be upon us. It's quite clear we'll never get to the state tonight anyway. If we keep riding in the dark, with this weather and through this particular landscape, we'll end up with our necks broken!-.

-We lost precious time this morning!-came the replied, howled in a struggle to be heard over the cacophony of thunder-And with each passing minute, the Saxon army might be closer to the Honorius family! We must aid them!-.

-Except we won't be of any use for that if we all end up dead!-shouted Lancelot from behind.

-And that's not a very knightly way to die, mind you!-added Bors.

-There's nothing we can do-cried Tristan-Besides, if the storm hold us back, it will probably slow back the Saxons. The army will run against it eventually-.

But their leader seemed as good as deaf, blinded by his sense of duty. The lash of honour was biting at his back, pressing him onwards in a senseless race which could end in tragedy for them all. The other horses pressed harder to keep the pace with Iustitia, dominates by their pack instincts. Devnet could feel the reins slipping out of her grasp, and for the first time since she'd learned how to ride, she had no control over her mount. And it terrified her.

-Arthur, please!-she begged, her body bouncing dangerously in the air when Cian took a huge jump over a twisted root. With that violent movement, the reins finally flew out of her hands and she had to lean forward, pressing her body flat against her Cian's back and grabbing to his mane-Stop!-.

-Be reasonable, for pity's sake, now's not the time to be honourable!-cried Lancelot. Even the knights, natives from a nation of horse lords, could barely handle their mounts in maddening nightmare that remained Devnet of the Wild Hunt of the Fae, which omened destruction and disgrace.

Their seemed to be no end to that madness, speeding towards and imminent disaster. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure, not sure of whom, nearly falling of the horse. Cian's back dug into her ribs when he jumped once more and nearly tripped, sending his rider forward. Devnet barely managed to hold on to her maddened mount for dear life.

-ARTORIOUS!-.

She never knew who it was that shouted. It could've been her, or all of them together, or no one at all, and it had all being product of the panic she'd been experiencing. It might even have been a command sent by Arthur's own God. But the voice, real or not, was booming, echoing in the surrounding ravines. What was certain was that in that instant, the roman commander, thought against his will, finally pulled the reins. His mount, exhausted by the effort it supposed riding across those woodlands, did not need to be ordered twice to ease his pace. Its hooves slipped dangerously through the ground due to the sudden change of speed, but managed to keep a stand. The other followed Arthur's gesture, feeling somewhat relieved. For a moment, the woods were empty of human sounds, save for their breathless pants as they tried to normalize their breathing.

Arthur's eyes were out of focus, staring into a point in the imaginary nothing before him. He looked out from his body, bewitched, hypnotized, and for a moment, Devnet actually feared he might have lost his mind somewhere along the run. But finally he shuddered, awakening from a slumber no one could quite understand and turned to his men, gaze deeply apologetically.

-Forgive me. I was blinded by duty-he looked over his shoulder one last time at an invisible storm inside his head, and then his face lost its paleness and returned he returned to the shoes of the confident, inspiring military officer.

Relieved by his change of spirits, the knights allowed the mocking grins back to their faces and Lancelot's smirked, rubbing his palm together-Well, what are friends for, if not to misguide you from your duty?-. Everyone burst into laughter, happy to leave the strange danger behind. Devnet opened her mouth to liberate some

giggles, when a few cold tingles fell on her tongue. She pressed her lips together, savouring the substance. A heavy growl hissed to them from the sky, and from one blink to the next, the rain fell over them torrentially.

-Great-she heard someone grunt sarcastically in complain-Just what this island needs…more rain-.

The girl giggles and spread her arms, offering her face to the clouds, and received the cold kiss of the life-giving water in her skin.

Gathered around a pathetic little fire that was barely alive; they were wet, cold and gloomy like a band of crows perched over a graveyard. However, Devnet was not unhappy. When it rain in Britain, all you could do was sit and wait for it to pass; sulking did no good. Naturally it was preferable to wait with a roof over the head, but they had to take things as life tossed it to them. And besides, rain was a magic thing in that land. After the pouring, came the rebirth of late green.

The knights, however, had never shared her opinion in that matter.

-Aaaaargh!-Gawain complained, taking off his boot and watching as respectable amount of water poured out-Uff! I can't wait to leave this island!-he told the rest-If it's not raining its snowing. If it's not snowing, it's foggy-.

-And that's the summer!-chipped Lancelot, with a mixture of diversion and sarcasm.

Devnet rolled her eyes and wrapped her wet cloak tighter around her frame, for all the good it did. For fifteen years those men had been living there and to the day they still complained about the weather every time they could. _"I hate this damn weather". "Gods, I can't believe its bloody raining again! "Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. The Gods either hate us, or think we truly smell". "Curse this island! Curse this rain! Curse my fucking life!"_ (That last normally being Galahad).

-C'mon, Gawain, you're a big boy now. It's just water-.

-Said the girl who's lived her whole damn life here-.

-That's only five years more than you, stupid-she giggled when the man groaned again because he'd just realised he'd sat on a puddle. As if the whole ground wasn't one big puddle already.

-The rain's good-commented Bors, somewhat gloomily-Washes all the blood away-.

-Doesn't help the smell-added Dagonet, making the rest laugh.

-See?-chipped Devnet, grabbing the end of Lancelot's cloak and holding it over her head like a canopy-I told you. You lot stink-.

-Shut up, skinny thighs-said Galahad, before poking at her ribs. A moan escaped Devy's lips as she rubbed the sore spot and fulminated her friend.

Lancelot yanked them apart before they started a fight in the mud and then lifted his face, exposed to the rain, and called-Hey Bors!-.

Having caught the man's attention he continued-You intent to take Vanora, and all your little bastards back home?-.

-That's quite a journey for so many small children-added Devnet, giving Galahad a last nudge before rolling as far away from him as possible.

-Oh, I'm trying to avoid that decision-he lifted his eyebrows-By getting killed-.

Gawain chuckled, while Devnet sneered into her cup of wine. Behind her, Lancelot smirked before turning away and looking at the stormy sky, tracing lazy circles in Devnet's back without anyone else noticing.

-Dagonet-Bors complained to his best friend-She wants to get married and give the children names-. Devnet didn't see what was so bad about that. Truth be told, those children couldn't respond to numbers for the rest of their lives.

-Women-exclaimed Tristan shortly, sheathing his sword-The children already have names. Don't they?-.

-Just Gilly-replied Bors-It was too much trouble so; we gave the rest of them numbers-.

-That's interesting. And I thought you couldn't count-commented Lancelot, earning a few chuckles and a middle finger from Bors behave.

-What? You thought we just went around calling them "One" and "Eight" because it was fun?-chuckled Devnet, pulling a wet strand of her hair behind her ear.

-No. It just seemed like a good system to keep record of all the bastards I've fathered -answered the dark knights. Chuckled erupted around the miserable fire again.

After a moment, Bors changed to a serious face and confessed gravely-You know, I never thought I'd get back home alive-.

The men nodded, sharing such experienced. None of them had ever fed their hopes of surviving their service.

-And now I've got the chance-the burly one went on-I don't want to leave my children-.

-You'd miss them too much-pointed Dagonet.

-I'd take them with me!-Bor's tone was tender when talking about his family. Behind that rude manner of being, hid the best father and family men Devnet had ever met, besides her own father, of course. -I like the little bastards. They mean something to me-.

Lancelot nodded; seemingly satisfied with the answer, but before he could look away Bors spoke again, this time directly at him.

-Especially number "Three"!-he assured, lifting his fist to his face proudly-He's a good fighter-.

-That's because he's mine!-. Gawain spat his drink to the fire, while Devnet and Galahad started rolling on the ground, laughing.

Bors looked at the mocking faces around him, grunted and stood up. -I'm going for a piss-he announced sulkily; making everyone burst into laughter again.

They sat converting for while more until the agonizing fire finally died out and they were left in the pitch blue darkness. Devnet was soaked and uncomfortable, that she could not deny. She doubted she'd be able to fall asleep any time soon. Though not everyone shared her situation. She could already hear Gawain's snores somewhere to her left. She decided to check on the horses one last time. The animals were all clustered beneath a huge tree that somewhat cloaked them. Their huge breath condensing in the air in front of their felpy nose. Devnet fixed the capes tighter around their frames and murmurs soothing words when a flash of lightning followed by thunder scared them.

She could hear the murmurs of low conversations, and thick snores, muffled by the sound of pouring water. Somewhere to the limits of their camps, she could here Jols playing his reed pipe. His song was sad and nostalgic, mixing with the sound of the rain. Half way back to the group, however she stumbled upon Arthur, seating in solitude by the crown of the hill, watching the rivulets of water run along the to join the creek below.

-Hey-she greeted in a friendly tone, taking a seat next to him. When he didn't reply, but instead continued to watch the water trail down the hill with his eyes dropped, she nudged him softly before resting her head on his shoulder-What troubles you?-.

The young masculine body contracted and then expanded in a heavy sight, rolling his head to ease some of the tension. An unpleasant crack accompanied the movement. -It'd be easier to ask what doesn't-he admitted gloomily.

-All right then. What doesn't trouble you?-.

To her innocent tease, Arthur made a faint smile, before his lips dropped again-I feel like I'm failing on my responsibilities, my oath and my charge-he buried his head in his hands, tugging at the wet strands of his hair plastered against his forehead.

Devnet's heart swelled with empathy and compassion, and she slipped her hands around her friend's arm. -Hey-she whispered soothingly-Don't burden yourself with things that are way out of your control. I don't think you have failed at all-she assured, resting her chin over his shoulder.

-My men should be free by now, crossing the continent back to their homeland. Instead they're stuck here in yet another suicide mission that's got nothing to do with them. How can you say I have not failed? I broke my oath to them, my responsibility for their well-being as well. What kind of leader does that make of me?-.

-Arthur, your hands are tied at your back, and your men know that. You haven't broken any bow to their eyes. You´re as powerless as they are in this situation-. When the man didn't answer, still despondent, Devnet laid a fair hand upon his cheek and forced him to meet her gaze-Your men trust you, Artorius. They'll follow you anywhere, not because you command them, but because they love you. You have won their respect and their loyalty because you have been just, and honest and most important of all, you have treated them not like slaves, or outsiders, but as equals. The bond between you and them is as strong as brotherhood. Believe me; they do not blame you for their disgrace-.

Despite being twice as small as him, Devnet managed to wrap her arms around his head and hold Arthur like a loving mother, humming softly in his ear before placing a kiss on his forehead and sitting back down. The man drew a faint smile and once more pushed the hair away from his forehead, pulling the hood over his head, thought it was of little use against the rain.

-I just want this to be over with so we can all go back where we truly belong-.

Arthur had no way to know that such words stung Devnet in the most painful of ways. Her heart cried silently as it was once more remained of the loneliness to come, when all the men she loved took off to some distant place she could only imagine, while she debated on which to follow.

-What will you do, in Rome?-her voice was so faint the rain almost took it away, but she seized the opportunity to distract Arthur's mind from his guilt-What sort of life will you seek? Will you marry a pretty roman lady dressed in silk and gold?-.

Arthur tilted his head to look at her, smiling gently beneath the shadow of his hood-A wife…why does everything need involve a wife?-he asked.

Devnet shrugged and smiled-Well, isn't women the only thing men can think about?-.

-Why, Devy-Arthur rested his elbow on one knee and held his cheek against his fist-I believe you're confusing me with my best friend-.

The girl giggled, because if she had laughed under that diluvium, she would've certainly drowned-Who would have guessed a womanizer, a gambler, a sinner and a pagan would've ended being Arthur Castus's soul brother?-she made a lopsided grin which Arthur mirrored.

-Sometimes you find courage, trust and loyalty in the most immoral of men-he nodded thoughtfully-In the end; it is not his vices what sustains our friendship, but his love. The one he hides deep inside himself from those closest to him-.

Arthur looked at Devnet with such intensity that the green in his eyes was clearly visible to Devnet. A shudder crept along the woman's spine, suspecting the truth hiding in Lancelot's heart regarding her. And Arthur, she was quite sure, suspected them too. That was what he'd really intended to say with his last words. The girl bit at her lower lip until it burned, and then released it slowly, allowing the raindrops to sooth the ardour.

Beside her, the commander stirred and changed position, stretching his longs legs out in front of him. -You should go and lay down, Devnet-he suggested kindly-I cannot guarantee that you'll sleep anything at all, with all this rain. But at least you could get some rest-.

-Yeah, and who would reject a perfect bed of weeds and mud? It's every sleeper's dream-she replied sarcastically, standing up. She smiled through the rain and leaned over to kiss the young roman's brow fondly before pulling back his hood over his head.

-Good night, Artorius-.

She started to walk away, but a few steps ahead she stopped, breathed deeply and turned back to her childhood friend, feeling small and uncertain-Arthur-she spoke, this time feebly-Do you think we'll manage to escape de Saxons should we come against them?-.

_ Are we going to survive? _

He took so long to answer, Devnet knew immediately that the answer would not bring her peace-I think we should pray to every God we believe in that they have changed their minds and turned back north-


	15. XI) God's Prisioners

**Heeeey pretties! New chapter ! I quite enjoyed writting this one...which is ironic considering it's quite a creepy one. But I feel it came out really well :) Please Leave your reviews so I can see the story through your eyes and improve it ! 3**

The land was beautiful. Flanked by tall blue mountain covered in pine trees, oaks, birches and ferns as green as an emerald.

Pity all of it belonged to a roman lord. Or so he believed.

Early that morning, the group arrived to a wide road that marked the entrance to Marius's Honorius's state. The track could hardly be considered a roman feat, since it lacked the traditional straightness of roman constructions, and it wasn't cobbled. But at least it was flat and big enough for all of them to ride hard, so Arthur quickened the pace to make up for the time lost due to the previous storm.

The road crossed a small wood, with trees set quite apart from each other, their roots covered by the woods and ferns that grew below. The earth was still wet after last night's rain, and as the horses galloped, their hooves sent big chunks of mud flying up in the air. After less than an hour's ride, they bended a wide curve that led them around a hill and out of the treeline. Up in front of them in a straight line, the immaculate building of the roman family's home stood surrounded by thick walls of stone, as if it wanted nothing to do with the small, humble houses from the village at its feet.

The guards, when seeing riders approaching, hasted to close the powerful gates, ready to defend the house if needed to. It looked like they had not been informed of the arrival of the knights to their rescue.

-Who are you?-inquired a man dressed in chainmail, helmet and a yellow cape. He stood with his companions over the wall of the house, eyeing the group of knights with mistrust. Arthur stepped with his horse forward and introduced himself.

-I'm Arthur Castus. Commander of the sarmatian knights sent by bishop Germanus of Rome. Open the gate-.

While they sent someone to fetch the lord of the house, and open the gates, Devnet took the chance to study her surroundings. The village was little more than a poor conglomerate of houses scattered around a miserable main yard. The villagers, daring to leave their shores in the nearby fields, approached shyly to get a better look of the newcomers. Devnet had never seen people so dirty and skinny. Their ragged closed hung loose over their bony structures, faces sucked into their skull, eyes miserable and hopeless. She bit her lip, washed over by pity. How could they be permitted to live in such humiliating conditions?

She turned her attention back to the front when the gates were opened to reveal Marius Honorus, flanked by three of his guards. The roman lord resulted to be a short man, dressed in the delicate robes of the romans, in pale tones decorated with simple dark patterns. You could see his pointed teeth through his smile, a smile that showed he was someone who thought very much of himself. His nose was hooked and his eyes too near-set to for him to be considered handsome, at least to Devnet's eyes. Besides, it looked like he didn't exercise not even half as much as he ate, for even his cheeks hung flabbily from his face.

-It is a wonder you have come!-he welcomed them with a very marked roman accent. He clasped his hands together, looking pleased –Good Jesus! Arthur and his knights!-he added with admiration. He aimed to pat Galahad's mare's nose, but the young knights pulled the reins and backed up before Honorus had the chance to touch his mount.

-You've fought the Woads?-the lord went on, as if empathizing with them. He sighted and rested his hands on his wide hips-Vile creatures-he spat. Devnet immediately opened her mouth to protest, but Dagonet gave her a pointed look and shook his head before she could make a sound.

-Our orders are to evacuate you immediately-informed Arthur, completely ignoring Marius's last comment, thought to his men, it was quite obvious he too had found it insulting.

-Uh-Marius looked over his shoulder and laughed nervously-But it is impossible-he said, expecting Arthur to share his opinion.

But the green-eyed commander was quite bored but this man's feeble attempts to bond with him, and merely looked around, frowning.

-Which is Alecto?-.

-I am Alecto-.

The voice that replied belong to a young boy looking down at the scene from the top of the wall. Opposite to his father, who seemed mild and arrogant; there was something in young Alecto's face that made Devnet at least grand him the benefit of doubt. He looked like a sharp young man. His clear voice, solemn face and piercing gaze gave him a sense of proud strength his father obviously lacked.

-Alecto is my son-declared Honorius, overprotectively-And everything we have is here, in the land given to us by the Pope of Rome-. He looked so pleased and full of himself, as if flaunting the Pope's favours under their noses would give him any sense of authority.

But your Pope had no right to do so. These lands are not his to give away thought Devnet, holding her reins so tight her knuckles were going white.

-Well, you're about to give it to the Saxons-Lancelot informed bluntly, on the verge of losing what little patience he had, especially for romans.

-They're invading from the North-explained Arthur, when noticing Marius's bewildered eyes. The fleshy little man pressed his lips together and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

-Then Rome will send an army-he assured pompously. Devnet almost laughed right in his face. So he thought he was of so much importance to the empire that they'd send an entire legion to their rescue? How ingenuous. If they'd "given" him those lands at the backwoods of the Roman Empire, it was because he might as well rot up there and no one would give a damn.

-They have-came the commander's short answer-Us. We leave as soon as you're packed-.

-I refuse to leave-.

Honorius looked like the kind of man who'd never been told anything against his own opinion, for he planted his humanity on the ground with a determinate set in his eyes and merely stared at Arthur as if daring to contradict his will. The image of the affable man pretending to befriend the knights was nowhere to be seen.

Devnet and her friends exchanged uncertain looks. Now what?

Since the roman commander didn't say a word, he looked around at the crowd of peasants that had gathered around and frowned.

-Go back to work!-he barked, as if needing to reaffirm his sense of authority-All of you!-.

His guards dispersed the circle aggressively, obligating people to follow their master's command. The poor farmers backed away slowly, and still the soldiers grabbed a few by the collar and pushed them to the ground like dogs for no apparent reason; while Marius kept repeating his orders in short grunts. His actions ended with Arthur's tolerance. The commander descended from his horse and confidently walked straight towards him. Intimidated, Honorius paced back, trying to dissimulate his tripping. Behind him, young Alecto had appeared, looking grave, yet none-threatening.

-If I fail to bring you and your son back my men can never leave this land. So you're coming with me, if I have to tight you to my horse and drag you all the way to Hadrian's Wall myself-said Arthur as sharp as a blade-My lord-he added in the end, as if remembering this Honorius belonged to the nobility. Though it sounded more like a mock-Lady, my knights are hungry-.

Marius's wife extended her hand to touch her husband's arm, asking for permission to tend the unwelcomed visitors.

-Go-replied the lord shortly. He followed her back to the house, ablaze with indignation, dragging his reluctant son behind him.

When he was gone, Arthur turned, looking around gravely.

-Come-smiled Bors, motioning gently to his horse-Let's go-.

But Arthur wasn't paying him attention. His eyes had landed upon a strange sight in the middle of the village square. Devnet and the knights followed his gaze and the girl nearly gasped in horror. Three poles were staked to the ground conically, and from its centre hanged a pair of chains. From said chains, hanged like a dead piece of meat what Devnet recognized as an old man, barely alive, with nothing more than a dirty pair of trousers to spare him from the cold in the air. His ribs stuck out from his belly; his skin was dirty and covered in bruises and wounds. A series of red lines adorned his back grotesquely, and with horror, Devnet realised they were the marks of a whip. The man barely moved, weakened from pain, sickness and hunger. It was the most miserable scene she had ever seen in her life.

With conviction, Arthur drew his sword from the sheath in his saddle and walked towards the man. Over the corner of her eyes, Devnet saw Lancelot roll his eyes with annoyance. She shot him an incredulous look. How could he turn his head so easily at something so horrible? On her other side, Bors sighted and exhibited his own sword, ready to aid his commander if needed. As he descended from his horse, a man in a humble brown robe clasped his shoulder eagerly and asked with a somewhat fanatic look in his eyes:

-Are you from Rome?-.

Bors stopped and looked at him with a face as hard as stone-From hell-. The man released him, horrified.

Devnet decided to follow Arthur as well. She dismounted, keeping her knives close beneath her cloak and walked behind Bors, trying to get a glimpse over the head of the people who had congregated around the main yard.

-Who is this man?-inquired the commander in a tight voice, pointing at the prisoner with his sword.

-He's our village elder-explained a skinny lad who trotted behind him like a puppy, willing to assist him. Arthur stopped before the miserable figure that couldn't even look his way due to his chains.

-What is this punishment for?-when no one said a word, he turned furiously to the rest of the villagers-Answer me!-.

The farmers backed away, intimidated.

-He defied our master Marius-informed the same thin man after a moment of hesitation, pointing at the roman house at their backs-Most of the food we grow is sent out by sea to be sold. He asked that we keep a little more for ourselves, that's all-his voice gained confidence-My arse has been at ground! I'm so hungry!-he paused before adding, his tone begging for an explanation to his misery-You're from Rome? Is it true that Marius is a spoke-man for God? And that it's a sin to defy him?-.

-Holy Danu, what sort of lies has this man been telling to this people?-murmured Devnet, horrifies. Beside him, Bors shook his head, not believing his ears either.

Arthur looked beyond the circle of villagers, where young Alecto had returned and stood watching the scene, surrounded by guards. The boy's face was filled with questioning as well, for he too seemed to doubt his father's words. Yet he feared that the commander would tell him that all his life he'd been believing a lie about his sire. Arthur hesitated. He looked at the village elder again. The man made a pitiful moan, ragged and weak. Convinced by his misery, Arthur turned to his audience and pointed his sword at them.

-I tell you now-he said-Marius is not of God. And you. All of you were free from your first breath!-with that proclamation, he turned and with a single certain blow, cut the chains that restrain the old rebel. The poor man fell to the ground with faint sight of relief and pain.

-Help this man-he ordered-HELP HIM!-.

Two old women approached the wounded prisoner and helped him to his feet, half dragging to the inside of a hut. Arthur turned to the rest of the villagers, staring at him with a mixture of terror and admiration upon their pale faces

-No hear me-he spoke-A vast and terrible army is coming this way. They will show no mercy and spare no one. Those of you who are able to should gather your things and begin to move south, towards Hadrian's Wall. Those unable shall come with us-he turned to the thin man beside him-You. Serve me now. Get this people ready-.

The man nodded and began organizing his fellow comrades, while Arthur returned where the rest of the knights had remained in their horses, watching the whole show with sombre expressions.

-Tristan-Arthur called the scout to his side-Ride and see if the you can localize the Saxon army. We must evade them at all cost. Go!-.

Without a word, the man lifted his arm in the air, realizing his falcon, and galloped after him, disappearing into the woods.

The tension between Artorius and his remaining knights could've been cut with a knife. Devnet could tell what they were thinking. So many people would slow them down, and that meant the risk of encountering the Saxons was higher. While on the other side, Arthur dis see that fact, but he paid it no mind. He was unwilling to let anyone behind. Hating such negative silence, Devnet cleared her throat uncertainly, for the sake of saying something. Anything.

-I'll help the villagers pack. We'll be ready sooner if we all help-she suggested shyly.

-Yes, yes-agreed Arthur-All of you, get down and help. The sooner we're ready, the sooner we'll leave-with that, he turned on his heels and marched towards the Honorius house-.

Marius's wife, and a couple of maids, brought them food short after. Bread, dried meat and cheese, accompanied by a flask of wine and the last clusters of grapes of the season. The moods where short-tempered and sour. The knights either remains silent, or exchanged brief words amongst each other in whispers. Devnet did what best she could to ignore their anger. She agreed with Arthur's decision. If they were to risk their life for the Honorius family, the might as well save the rest of the state's inhabitants since they were at it. Perhaps it wasn't a wise move, but she could never live with herself knowing she'd left those villagers helpless at the hands of the Saxons.

Pelagius, Arthur's childhood mentor, had also influenced her with his teaching about freedom, justice and equality. And compassion.

The villagers were reluctant to accept her help at first, intimidated by the first impression they'd received of the knights' committee, yet as soon as she showed them she meant to be gentle and helpful, they silently agreed to let her carry their bags to the two or three wagons in conditions for the journey.

They were not very talkative people, which made Devnet believe they had indeed been mistreated for all their lives. She could see fear hiding beneath their low gazes. They dragged their feet with dejection when they walked. For what little she could pick from their whispered conversations, Marius was a hard master. His house servants and soldiers were all from Rome and treated them with contempt as well. The Lady Augusta, Marius's wife, seemed to be the only soul form that house who'd ever showed them a real act of kindness, but there wasn't much she could do under shadow of her husband.

Devnet also learned that there was something foul happening in that state, something none of the villagers dared to mention directly. All she understood was that it had to do with that isolated stone hut near the walls of the mansion, and that it represented something even worse than death.

As she carried a small sack of grain to one of the wagons, a small child accidently dropped her rag to the mud. The little girl began to cry, but her mother was indifferent to her struggled to retrieve the doll. Swiftly, Devnet hurried forward and picked up the small toy, wiping away the mud.

-Wait!-she called to the mother, trotting to her side and extending the doll to the little girl-You're daughter lost her doll-she explained shyly.

The child took the doll with greedy hands and hugged it-Isa!-.

Devnet realised the mother of the little girl couldn't have been older than her. And yet their expressions were so different; that woman looked twenty years older. Her dull blond hair hung languidly beneath her head kerchief. Her cheek bones were prominent, crowned by deep blue half-moons beneath her tired grey eyes. The lines around her mouth were carved deeply in her skin, which was of a sickly pale tone. On the other side, Devnet still looked like a fifteen year old girl, her hair wild and luscious, her cheeks showed a faint healthy rose. For e moment she couldn't help but gape openly at that poor woman impaired by a lifetime of excessive work.

Hadn't been for her ill-fated appearance, the villager would've probably been very beautiful. The kind of beauty Galahad's eyes lingered upon when she passed, or Lancelot would take to bed.

-Thank you, my lady-replied the woman with a soft, tender voice. Unlike her body, it still kept a quiet tone of sweetness and joviality-That doll is the only toy Mila has. I hadn't realised she'd dropped it. I thought she was just restless-she kissed her daughter's cheek.

-Don't worry-smiled Devnet, and gently caressed the little girl's head-She's a pretty thing-.

The woman smiled shyly and then excused herself, continuing her way to the wagon. Devnet sighted and picked up the sack of grain, wishing she could do more for those people.

At some time in the day, it started snowing. Devnet didn't even notice until she finally returned to sit with the knights after nearly everything was packed from the village. She felt a cold caress upon her cheek. Surprised, she lifted her gaze at the white sky, contemplating the small shadows of the snowflakes falling around her. She blinked as some got caught in her eyelashes. The winter had come to the north.

Tristan returned soon after the snowfall began, and he did not bring good news. The Saxons had cornered them to the East. Some had descended and were coming from the south to cut their way.

-They're moving fast-Tristan informed between pants-They'll be here before nightfall-.

-How many?-asked Arthur.

-An entire army-replied the scout grimly.

-And the only way out is to the South?-.

Tristan shook his head-East-he said-There's a trail heading east. Across the mountains. It means we have to cross behind the Saxon lines, but that's the one we should take-.

-A trail heading east?-repeated Devnet. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned-I know that path, the Woads use it. It leads to the Lake of Sorrows. There is a path that borders the water but at this time of the year it's completely blocked. And the water doesn't freeze solidly until mid-winter, the ice would be too thing for the wagons-.

Tristan shrugged gravely-It's the only alternative, unless we risk running with the Saxons-he looked around, as if for the first time noticing the wagons from the village-Arthur-he murmured-Who are all this people?-.

-They're coming with us-replied the commander simply.

Tristan looked at him in utter surprise, which was quite unlike of Tristan because nothing ever took him by surprise, and then his eyes went sombre. The snorted with resignation and pressed his lips together gravely-Then we'll never make it-.

The commander did not replay, and in that silence, suddenly Devnet and the rest of the knights repaired upon a sound they had not noticed before. It was a distant rhythm of short, steady knocks, brought to them by the wind. The hair on the back of Devnet's head pricked and she exchanges glances with the rest. Everyone slowly turned to each other, realizing what the sound meant at the same time.

War drums.

-Gods-she muttered under her breath. She looked around at the short line of waggons surrounded by those simple peasants and she finally saw what her knights had seen from the start. And as much as she hated herself for it, she had to admit they were right to be reluctant. Dead weight. Dead weight they would inevitably have to carry through a treacherous road, with time pressing against them. She shivered.

Arthur had withdrawn his attention from the threatening sound and turned towards the isolated hut that had given Devnet a bad hut. A couple of those strange kind of monks were walling the entrance with big block of stone, closely watched by a pair of soldiers. Arthur studied the scene for a moment and then made his way there, sword in his hand.

-Move-he ordered the guards-Move-.

They followed their commander in their horses, hands resting on their weapons. Apparently, the knights too sensed a forbidding air around the hut.

-What is this?-Arthur inquired the monks.

-You cannot go in there-replied the same man that had asked Bors if he came from Rome before-No one goes in there. This place is forbidden-.

Without a word, Arthur pushed the monks away to get a closer look at the door. At the same time, Marius realised what they were doing and jogged heavily towards them

-What are you doing?! Stop this!-he cried. Bors, holding a sword high in the air, turned the reins of his horse and blocked the roman lord's way, giving him a hard glare.

-Arthur, we have no time-said Lancelot shortly, noticing how his friend palped the recently elevated wall over the door.

-Do you not hear the drums?-pointed out Galahad, with anxiousness. Both men turned to Devnet, giving pointed looks. They thought perhaps she could convince him. After a moment of hesitation, she descended from her horse and laid a fair hand on her friends shoulder.

-Arthur, don't-she asked of him-Please. I have a bad feeling about this place. Please let be. Something wicked goes on inside. Do not disturb it-.

But he wouldn't listen to no one. Instead, he pushed her gently out of the way and called for Dagonet, motioning the door with his head. The giant dismounted and grabbed his mighty axe from the saddle. He planted his spread feet by the walled door and with a mighty swing, began knocking off the blocks, while they were still bland. It took him five or six more swings, and then he kicked the door, but it would not open.

-Key-demanded Arthur.

-It is locked-replied one of the guards-From the inside-.

Arthur motioned for Dagonet to continue. After two attempts, the door swung open violently, revealing a narrow set of stairs that disappeared into the darkness. A strange, nasty scent emanated from the inside.

Lancelot finally dropped to the ground and drew one the swords from his back, ready to follow his best friend wherever he went. Dagonet and Gawain also lined up to get torches, to venture down the stairs. At the last minute, Devnet slid swiftly between the guards and trailed behind them.

-You can never stay out of anything, can't you?-said Lancelot, in front of her, without looking over his shoulder and holding his torch high to light the way. Devnet shrugged.

-You know me-she replied simply. And then said no more. The lower they went, the stronger the fear prickled her skin. Unconsciously, she pressed closer to Lancelot's back while looking around with haunted eyes. After a moment, she felt the knight's knuckled brush gently against her hand.

-Stay close-he whispered.

They started to hear a monotonous chant in what sounded like Latin as they approached the end of the stairway. A greenish light illuminated before them what looked like a small hall. In front of her, she saw Arthur stop beneath and archway, and as the rest clustered behind him, the chanting stopped and an extremely thin figure blocked their way.

-Who are this defilers of the Lord's temple?-hissed the monk with silent wrath.

Lancelot stepped forward-Out of the way-. He pushed the monk aside and slowly stepped inside the hall to look around. Devnet knew something horrible waited inside when the knights froze, his expression nearly horrified. The rest hurried behind to see what had startled him so. Devnet stepped into the room and immediately that putrid smell of dead grew unbearable. And then it hit her. The woman gave a strangled shriek, stepped back and hid her face in Gawain's chest, fighting the urge to vomit.

That was no temple. It was torture chamber.

It was a long set of dungeons, dimly illuminated by that sickly pale light. After taking a few deep breaths, Devnet dared to look around, telling herself she could not be weak. The smell of death stung her nose like poison, as the stepped inside the chamber. Lancelot leaned at her feet to look behind a set of bars. The torch light illuminated acts of inhumanity. Corpses profaned by torture, filth and starvation. The cells looked more like sewers. The prisoners had been left to rot and die in their own wasted. She heard the hair-prickling shrieks of rats scurrying away into the dark when touched by the torch light. Despite her horror, Devnet couldn't stop glaring at those miserable remains that had once been human beings.

-Who could do something like this?-she barely managed to whisper.

Slowly, Lancelot stood back and turned to Arthur, his face still in shock that was slowly giving away into anger-The work of your God-he spat coldly to the commander-Is this how he answers your prayers?-.

Arthur looked him in the eyes, but for once had nothing to say in defence of his religion. Perhaps, thought Devnet, idealist as he was, he had never imagined the kind of horrors fanatics could do in the name of a church. All horrors are human.

Arthur turned to the rest-See if there's any still alive-he ordered. Dagonet nodded and began searching the different cells, while Gawain remained at the doorway to cut out the monks escape. Lancelot, in a slash of fury, turned and broke the chains that held the bars of the first cell, giving that miserable corpse a last shadow of dignity by freeing him somehow. He knelt once more to see if deeper inside the cell, someone might still be alive.

Everything happened so quick. One of the monks stepped forward and grabbed the dark knight, yanking him upwards with unexpected brutality, mumbling uncontrollably.

-How dare you set foot in this holy place!?-.

And then Lancelot stabbed him. He lifted his sword and drove it straight through the man's chest. The monk gaped at him before collapsing to the ground, dead. Another, the skinny one who had been muttering Latin inside the cave, looked at his dead companion and then turned to Lancelot with cold fury.

-That was a man of God-.

-Not my God!-barked the knight, pointing a threatening finger at him.

To the right, Dagonet kept opening cell after cell, stepping back each time he was greeted by the stench of a rotting body.

-This one's dead!-he announced.

-By the smell they all are-answered Gawain, sombrely. He stepped forward to join the search, turning to the monks just as he stepped away-And you-he grumbled cruelly-You even move, you join him-he pointed and the dead man with the torch.

There were bodies hanging from chains to the wall. All dead. Devnet trailed behind Arthur, covering her mouth in horror and shaking her head, muttering a silent prayer for those tortured souls, hoping they would find the peace that had been denied to them

Suddenly, Dagonet lifted one of the tiny capsule cells and shouted over his shoulder-Arthur!-.

The knight bent over and pulled out a hunched little boy, his face covered in tears while he clutched his left arm against his chest. Dag sat him on a stair and pointed seriously at him.

-You must not fear me-.

The boy merely looked at him with big eyes and a mixture of fear, admiration and gratitude.

Devnet saw Arthur stop by the last cell and kneel to look inside. He squinted his eyes and motioned Lancelot to come closer with the torch. Curious, Devnet tagged behind and the three of them stared into the darkness.

A woman sat, panting softly and hugging her legs, close to the bars. She looked over her shoulder at Arthur with dry eyes and a pale, dirty face; too tired to be afraid. Devnet made a strangled cry and laid both of her hands over her lips, gasping.

-All Father, bless me-she mumbled, horrified and out of breath.

Arthur looked at her intensely.

-You know this woman?-.

After the initial shock, in which Devnet just stared and the prisoner, who despite her deteriorated state, recognised her too.

-She'd my cousin-the half-woad managed to whisper finally-Guinevere-.

Arthur stood up and lifted his sword-Here, hold this-he extended the torch back to Lancelot-Now step aside, both of your-.

The young commander proceeded to smash the chains with one stroke and he pulled Guinevere out. The woman's eyes were red, her throat raw. She looked half dead, half alive, and Devnet had no idea of how to react.

-Quick, let's take them outside-.

The climbed back swiftly. Lancelot led the way with the torch, followed By Arthur, carrying Guinevere, and Devnet. Behind came Dag and the boy. Gawain closed the march, holding his sword against the back of the terrified monks.

-Water!-cried Arthur as soon as they stepped into the open air-Give me some water!-he knelt in the grass, gently resting the exhausted woman in the ground. Devnet sat behind him, holding her cousin's head anxiously. To her surprise, it was Horton, that snobby, bland servant from Rome, who approached them hurriedly and offered them a flask with genuine concern. Arthur took it from his hands and held it to Guinevere lips. She took a swallow and coughed; for her throat was dry and the water cold. Close by, Dagonet tended the child too, who looked small and helpless shivering out in the cold. His arm was broken.

Tristan looked at the woman in Arthur's arms, and his eyes lingered on the blue tattoos wrapped around her ankles.

-She's a woad-he declared what they already knew, putting away his sword.

-She's petite cousin-explained Lancelot form beside his horse. His voice was awfully hard, even for him. Devnet looked over her shoulder at him over a moment, surprised by his anger. But her attention was drawn back to her cousin, now aided by Marius's wife as well.

-I'm a roman officer-said Arthur, after the woad girl finished drinking-You´re safe now. You're safe-.

-You'll be all right, co-ogha-Devnet added in Gaelic. Guin's eyes, slightly out of focus, clung to her face, since it was the only familiar to her. Devnet held her hand and a strange sensation snaked through her fingers. Guinevere's eyes glimmered with relief, and in that moment, Devnet realised that despite their distances, from now on a small bond had been extended between her and her cousin. She managed to smile.

-STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING!-.

Suddenly, Marius's voice lashed through the air like a whip, and the man walked towards them with indignation. Arthur looked at him with cold, angered eyes as he stood up to meet him.

-What is this madness?!-he demanded.

-THEY'RE ALL PAGANS HERE!-exclaimed the man, his eyes bulging out. As if that explained everything

-So are we- Galahad commented shortly from his horse.

Devnet suddenly fell her insides boil with anger. She stood up and walked to stand in front of Marius before anyone could stop her. Her mouth was crooked in a snarl, as she looked at the man, who was barely taller than her. She had never felt such disgust over a human being.

-And that's justifies this monstrosity?-she hissed at him with fury-You torture them because they don't think like you? It is for things like this that you beloved God sends people to hell, not because they believe in something else-she lifted a finger and held it beneath his face-You, disgusting, embarrassing despicable piece of shit. You arrogant animal, beast , are the only devil in this place-.

For a moment, the roman merely looked at her with eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, as if he couldn't believe that she even owned a voice at all. But then his hand lashed out in a strike and Devnet felt the burning pain of his blow against her cheek. The impact sent her backward and she to the ground with a strangled gasp, clutching at her cheek.

-Don't you dare talk to me like that, pagan whore!-the lord with a wicked glim.

A long silence followed the act. And then:

-No! You-stop!-.

Before any of the other men could react, Devnet felt a quick shadow pass beside her, followed by the sound of metal against metal, and then a strangled cry. The congregated crown gasped in horror. Still slightly disorientated the woman lifted her to find that Lancelot had covered the distance that separated him from the scene and in one move he'd crossed his twin blades beneath Marius's chin. In his loathly eyes glimmered every intention of slitting the man's throat.

-You'll die for that-he snarled to the roman.

-Lancelot, don't!-Devnet flung herself forward and somehow managed to pull her friend away before he had the chance of committing his most stupid act yet. The man tried to dodge her and attack the lord again, but Devnet pushed with all she had against his chest and grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look at her instead of Marius.

-Stop! Look at me! Yes, that's right. Look at me, I'm fine. See? He's not worth the trouble-she sooth him with a gentle tone.

Lancelot inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and regaining back his nerves before opening them again and laying gently a hand over Devnet's face, tilting it to study at the spot were a bright red hand had appeared over her cheek.

-If he ever lays so much as a toenail on you again, I'll kill him-he hissed. Devnet shook her head and grabbed his callused hand tightly.

-Don't worry. It won't happen again-she looked over her shoulder with contempt-For if he even tries to touch me again-she said out loud and clear, with an icy tone, so the Marius would hear her-He'll find himself choking in his own blood as my dagger slides through his through his throat-.

But Marius was not paying attention to her anymore, as if she was not worth it. He'd turned again to Arthur and explained in an exalted manner:

-They refuse to do the task God has set for them! They must die! As an example!-.

-YOU MEAN THEY REFUSE TO BE YOUR SERVES!-accused Arthur, infuriated by such unjust act of discrimination and enslavement.

Marius was genuinely startled by the commander's response. The wind and the snow played with his thin hair, making him look unkempt as if he had gone completely berserk.

-You are a roman!-he spat with indignation, and Arthur's face froze with shame for it was the first time he felt ashamed of being part of Rome. Marius went on, stabbing the commander's conscience with every word.

-You understand! And you're a Christian!-suddenly the lord turned to his wife, kneeling beside Guinevere-YOU!-he shouted furiously-YOU KEPT HER ALIVE!-he swung his hand and hit her across the face with even more force than when he had stricken Devnet. In a blink of an eye, Arthur knocked Honorius with a single blow of his fist before resting his sword beneath the lord's chin.

-My lord!-his guards cried in alarm and rushed to aid him, but Marius stopped them with a shout. His flesh trembled like a rabbit's nose, as he looked up at his attacker while trying to conceal his fear. Arthur hovered over him, clenching his teeth tightly.

-That's two women in less than five minutes, Honorius. One of them is like a sister to me. Should you strike a third, I will not be as benevolent-.

Marius swallowed with difficulty-When we get to the Wall-he said in a soft, but revengeful tone-You will be punished for this heresy-.

Arthur grabbed him by the collar of his robe and held the sword closer to his throat-Perhaps I should kill you now and seal me fate-.

-I was willing to die with them-.

Every pair of eyes turned with surprised to the soft voice that had spoken. It was one of the monks, the tall lanky one.

-Yes-he continued almost with kindness, but it gave goose bumps on Devnet's skin-To lead them to their rightful place-.

When Arthur stood up to look at him, horrified, the monk lifted his bony chin proudly and said in a stern voice-It is God's wish that this sinners be sacrificed. Only then can their souls be saved-.

Arthur made a strange face-Then I shall grant his wish-.

Devnet believed to have heard wrong. What!?

The commander faced the crowd-Wall them back up-he ordered in a hard voice. The monk's mouth dropped in terror.

Tristan leaned over-Arthur-he called urgently.

-I SAID WALL THEM UP!-.

-Don't you see that it is the willing of God that this sinners be sacrificed!?-cried the monk, desperately, but nevertheless he was pushed by a whole crowd of villagers with the rest of his companions. The farmers began piling back the heavy stones Dagonet had brought down, while the monks cried died out with each rock that blocked the exit.

Devnet released the breath she'd been holding, closing her eyes in relief that that nightmare was over. Her left cheek burned with the cold, and she touched it, feeling uncomfortable.

-Here, Little One. Let me see-.

Devnet leaned from her saddle so Dagonet could get a better look at the bruise. He pressed her cheekbone softly and she whimpered, but did not pull away.

-It isn't grave-the man sighted with clear relief.

-Here-Lancelot pulled Vahe beside her and extended a tight ball of snow covered in a piece of cloth-Hold it to your face-.

-Aye-agreed Dagonet-It will make you feel better and prevent it from getting worse-.

-Thank you-. She took the cold compress and pressed it lightly before making a small grin-C'mon. Admit it. I bet I look tough-.

-Tough? No-answered Gawain from behind-More like clumsy. But we already knew that-.

The group shared a few chuckled at his joke and Devnet felt a little better, after the shocking nasty episode they'd been through moments before.

The caravan was almost ready to leave. Right after the very villagers finished the morbid task of imprisoning the monks, they took off in a long, single line of wagons, the royal carriage, the farm animals and the own people, carrying as much as they could over their backs. The knights and Devnet divided themselves along the line to guard the order, and Tristan led the way towards the mountains.

In the distance, the steady rhythm of drums echoed sinisterly closer.


	16. XII) Hell in Rain and Snow

**Heey :D Here's the next chapter. I know I took longer than expected in uploading it. I've been having some trouble with my internet but it looks like it's decided to allow me to catch up in my "chores"for now so..ENJOY n.n**

**Don't forget to leave me your lovely reviews to know what you think of the story (I love to see it through your eyes) and a vote if you like 3**

Winter caught up with them in the mountains. As the caravan climbed higher and higher through a road that got steeper and steeper; the world around them lost all colour save for white, black and blue. Devnet had her hood over her hood over her head and her cape firmly clasped around her shoulders. The snow was cold and it bit hard on the body. The cold was not the only trouble brought by the snowstorm. Their space had decreased because the wagons got stuck nearly every half mile in the mud and the ice, and with the road going on a perpetual ascend; making them move took a lot of effort…and even more time. For the moment, Devnet couldn't hear the Saxon drums anymore, but she wasn't certain whether it was because they'd managed to leave them behind, or simply because the howls of the wind took them away.

She stopped on a protrusion of the ground that looked over the border of the mountain side, to allow Cian a little rest, though she knew she couldn't stop for much, or else the horse would lose too much heat.

-This route is dangerous at this time of the year-she repeated yet again to Arthur beside her-Even the Woads avoid it-.

-You already said that-responded Arthur-Tell me about this Lake of Sorrows. Ever been there?-.

-No, my father was, or so Merlin tells me. Around this time of the year, a long time ago. He nearly didn't make it. The ice is treacherous-.

-But it is possible to cross it-.

Devnet grimaced-Technically, yes. But Arthur, think. If one solitary rider barely made it to the other side; how are we going to cross with all this wagons?-she bit her lower lip just as one of the carriages passed behind them. Inside was where Lucan and Guinevere struggled with their health, aided by Dagonet and Lady Augusta.

-We'll find away-the commander assured her, watching the wagon go by.

-Arthur, there's only so much we can do. Our biggest enemy right now isn't the Saxon army. We're up against nature…and time-.

A set of hooves thundered towards them and Lancelot pulled Vahe to a halt beside them-We're moving to slow-he declared with his usual lack of finesse when it came to survival-The girl's not gonna make it and neither is the boy. The family we can protect, but we're wasting our time with all this people!-.

-We're not leaving them-Arthur replied, his face serene.

Lancelot pressed his lips together-If the Saxons find us we will have to fight-.

-Then save your anger for them!-snapped the commander.

Lancelot tilted his head slightly and gave his friend, a long, intrigued and somewhat dangerous look. -Is this Rome's quest?-he asked slowly-Or Arthur's?-.

When the roman didn't replay, he pulled his reins and galloped away, leaving the tension of his anger in the air. After a moment of doubt, Devnet aimed to follow him. -Let him be. The last thing I need is you two bickering at each other-sighted Arthur.

Devnet shook her head-Not this time. That's my cousin he's talking about leaving behind. And I'm not going to tolerate that-she kicked her heels softly on Cian's ribs and overtook Vahe. She crossed her horse right in front of the black stallion to block his way.

-What the hell is your problem?-she demanded to Lancelot, who for a moment seemed surprised. Then, he rolled his eyes, his jaw set tight.

-They're dead weight, Devnet. It's them or us. Forgive me if I have no interest of wasting my life, the men's or yours on all this people-.

-By the Dagda, Lancelot! Where's your compassion!?-Devnet exclaimed, horrified.

-Compassion gets you killed in this sort of situation. Look at this. We aren't even half way up the mountain side. Those wagons are delaying us while the Saxons only come closer. Why are we risking our lives for two miserable souls who'll probably die anyway, for instance? We should kill them mercifully and get rid of the extra burd-

She slapped him, square across the cheek. The sound lashed through the air like a whip and many turned their eyes towards the couple. Devnet fulminated the curious-Keep walking! We're already going slowly enough-. They scurried away hurriedly and she returned her attention back to the man before her.

Lancelot held his cheek more out of surprise than pain, for a hand as tiny as hers could do little damage, and anyways, she'd slapped him before. But what made this time so different was the fact of how much she'd wanted to. Before, it had always been during idle fights, mere tantrums compared to that. This time, more than ever, he deserved it. And deep inside, they both knew it.

-You're heart's been carved out of stone-she hissed in an angry whisper.

-Devnet-he said, despite knowing he shouldn't-Isn't it logical to value the survival of an able, healthy life over a fading one?-.

-No-she replied coldly; her eyes as stormy as the winter around them-For sometimes , some weak are worth more than one healthy-.

She'd intended those words to hurt him. She wanted him to feel despised, worthless to her. She wanted him to feel like he should be the one staying behind. If she managed to do so, he didn't show it, but she didn't care. She turned her horse and rode away.

The caravan ventured inside a pinewood that covered the side of the mountain's like a veil, finally finding some refuge from the snow and the wind while the path continued across the forest. Arthur ordered a breve halt. Immediately the villagers dropped to the ground on the spot, exhausted after the first length of the climb. Arthur wanted to take a closer look at the wounded from the dungeons. Devnet left Cian under Jols's charge and rushed behind her friend.

-I want to see her-she whispered. Arthur looked at her and nodded. The cabin was quite small, dimly illuminated and filled with and acre smell that burned Devnet's nose, like old pelts. Arthur closed the door behind them, making the only source of light the small oil lamp in a corner, and the daylight filtering from the space between wooden boards. Dagonet and Lady Augusta hovered over the little boy. The man was tending he's injured arm, while the roman lady held cold compresses to the small, fair forehead. The child's cracked lips mumbled senselessly, and his eyes travels back and forth beneath his eyelids. An occasional moan escaped him every few instants.

-Arthur-greeted Dagonet when seeing him enter like a shadow-Little One-he added at Devnet, peeking over the commander's shoulder.

-How is he?-the man asked softly.

-A fever?-ventured Devnet, feeling so sorry for the boy. He was no more than a child.

Dagonet nodded-He burns-his fingers rested upon the boy's brow for a moment-Brave boy-.

Arthur's attention migrated to the end of the wagon, where Guinevere, granddaughter of Merlin and the closest the Woads had to a Celtic princess, rested between some moth-eaten pelts that were undoubtedly the source of that smell of old. When the young centurion kneeled beside Guinevere, she squirmed away, with a faint hiss, like a cat escaping from a man's touch. Her eyes narrowed with hostility and mistrust, looking at the red cape flung around Arthur's shoulder as if it represented the worst of evils to her. _Actually…it does_ Devnet thought after a moment.

The young woman knelt by her cousin's feet and touched them gently, smiling with reassurance- _Beidh biseach ort go luath, Gwenhwyfar_-she murmured in the Celtic tongue, calling her cousin by the original pronunciation of her name. "You will be better soon"-Just let Arthur examine you. I promise you'll come to no harm…I'll stay with you if you want-she added in English.

Without cowering, Arthur gently grabbed one of her hands, which held against her chest in what looked like a sorry excuse of a bandage. The woad breathed furiously and grunted all the time, like a haunted animal, but reluctantly accepted the roman's touch, her jaw set as hard as rock. Delicately, Arthur undid the poor bandage, revealing a feeble hand, flaccid and motionless, with fingers awkwardly positioned and blue with bruises. After a moment of examination, Arthur gently tracing the patterns of the bones in Guinevere's fingers, he looked her in the eye and spoke slowly, like treating with a wounded wild animal.

-Some of your fingers are out of place. I have to push them back-.

Instinctively, Guinevere yanked her hand away at the idea of the pain, but Arthur retrained her wrist, still calm-If I don't do this there's a chance you might never use them again-.

Devnet saw a battle of wills exchanged between her cousin and her best friend, and suddenly she felt quite excluded and out of place. Some appeared suspended in the air between those to, and Devnet had an odd feeling in her heart, like a hunch; thought it wasn't bad at all. Just…well, she'd had to wait and see. Finally, Guinevere decided it was worth enduring the pain for the sake of saving her hand. She sat up straight, and without inhibition grabbed Arthur's forearm, ready to dig her nails into it if needed to. Arthur held it gently between his own, like the broken body of a bird. He looked at the woad warrior girl one last time before gently pushing the firs bones.

It almost hurt Devnet as much as it hurt her cousin. The sound of the bones being pushed into their original position was nerve-wracking to her. Guinevere began panting, pressing her lips together to avoid a scream to escape her. She held on bravely for the next two fingers, but on the third emitted strangled scream of pain. Her grip around Arthur's arm grew stronger, determinate to endure the remaining instants of agony. Devnet, feeling powerless and idle, gave her a couple of awkward pats on her feet.

-Aaah-ah!-this time, the proud princess cried out loud and sobbed slightly, burring her face in Arthur's chest. Arthur wrapped his arm gently around her bony shoulders, and Devnet crawled closer to rest her hand on her cousin's forearm, but Guinevere kept looking at her hand in awe. A few second passed before she was finally able to regain her composure. Arthur tried to leave, thinking he should allow the cousins some privacy to talk, but Guinevere clung to his armour in desperation.

-They tortured me-she blurted out. It wasn't clear if it was to him, to Devnet or to no one in particular. Her eyes where slightly out of focus-With machines-a solitary tear slid across her paled cheek, which she rested, exhausted, against the cold metal over the man's chest-They'd make me tell thing that I …I didn't even know how to begin with-.

Devnet bit her lip, preoccupied. Guinevere talked as if she wasn't even there, completely focused on Arthur. Devnet didn't know it her cousin was doing that on purpose or not, but never the less she began to feel an intruder in that private conversation. Discretely, she crawled away a little bit, but sat close enough so that she could still hear the words.

-And then…I head your voice in the dark-Guinevere continued in weak, hoarse whispers-I' m Guinevere-she added-You're Arthur…of the knights from the Great Wall-.

-I am-.

Out of the corner of her eye, Devnet stole a glance at them. Guinevere's face was closer to Arthur's than any other feminine face Devnet had ever seen. The man's eyes were, as usual, calm and undisturbed, yet something strange, like a torch flame, seemed to hide behind those piercing green orbs. After a moment of contemplating the commander's features,

Guinevere held her face proudly, narrowing her eyes-The famous Briton who kills his own people-she concluded gloomily. Arthur did not replay. He probably didn't know what to say at all. He merely stared at the warrior, seemingly unaffected by her words, until Guinevere's eyelids dropped and she slowly dosed off against the commander's chest, exhausted. Slowly as to not disturb her, Arthur rose and abandoned the wagon, with Devnet at his heels.

-Can I stay with her?-she asked suddenly, stopping at just outside the doorway.

Arthur turned and looked at her-You want to go in the wagon?-.

Devnet slid her tongue over her lower lip before nodding-I want…no, I need to talk to her. When she wakes up-. She stamped her foot nervously against the ground, while wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

-Well, so be it-Arthur nodded, but did not smile. Something troubled him. Everything-I'll ask Jols to look over Cian. Go back inside now; we should continue our journey-.

With a series of groans and rattles, the caravan resumed the tortoise ascend through the mountain skirts. Inside the wagon, Devnet longed for the open air and the snow against her face. The stagnant air felt little to her lungs, the rattling back and forth of the wagon was on the verge of giving her a headache. She wished Guinevere would regain consciousness soon so that at least they could sit at the front of the wagon and receive fresh air.

The little woman found a spot beside a gap between the wood planks of the wagon. Resting her head against the wall, she contemplated the world go slowly by in a series of whites and blacks. Never the same people walked beside the wagon for once. Some stayed behind, others passed ahead. Some of them lingered, barely talking because all their air went on breathing through the climb. The path was hard and they'd been walking for hours. Sometimes a knight would pass by for between one blink and the other, swiftly trotting up and down the line to communicate something to the other. Once she saw Lancelot, but he didn't realize she was inside the wagon, staring at him through the gap. Or perhaps he didn't want to realize. When he turned his horse and road back to the end of the caravan, Devnet exhaled deeply, with a mixture of anger and sorrow, and focused on the tiny cloud escaping her lips to the cold.

-You don't seem to like enclosed places any more than I do. I guess it's a family thing then…-.

She flinched and turned to find Guinevere staring at her intendedly. After spending the past hour and more sleeping, the change in her cousin was almost drastic. She had regained some colour, and there was strength in the way she held her own body. The woad girl sat up straight, run a hand over her matted raven dark hair, and puffed with exasperation.

-How are you feeling?-Devnet asked cautiously.

-Well, I've been better, mind you-Guinevere replied with a small, crooked grin, and only then did Devnet realize she was a lot like her brother. Certainly not in appearance, for when Enyak was rugged looking, Guinevere owned a wildling beauty. But the way they conducted their manners was very similar, fierce and slightly ironic-But at least I don't feel like I'm dying anymore-.

Devnet grimaced before chuckling-Been there, done that-.

-A fever?-.

-A Saxon blow, actually-Devnet laughed when the woad winced -I was unconscious for a week, but when I finally woke up, I can assure you, I felt only half alive-she looked at her nails and then added delicately-But I suppose being tortured is quite another matter-.

Guinevere shuddered and wrapped the furs' tighter around her-All men are tortured, one way or another-she replied, downplaying the situation; but Devnet could see a faint haunted veil in her cousin's dark eyes-How's Lucan? Is he any better?-.

Devnet tilted her head, confused-Lucan?-.

-The boy-Guinevere motioned to the child laying a few steps away-He was with me in the dungeons. He's only ten-she added sombrely.

-Dagonet thinks he'll live. And Dagonet's rarely wrong-.

The woad woman frowned slightly-Dagonet?-she paused-The big, bald one, with a scar on his face-.

Devnet nodded.

-He's one of Arthur's men?-.

-Oh yeah-Devnet smiled-One of his best knights, to be honest. And the best healer too-.

-That giant is a healer?-.

The blue-eyed shrugged-Never let appearances fool you when it comes to Dag-.

Guinevere grinned once more before wrinkling her nose and sighting as if the air weighted inside her lungs.

-Do you reckon we could sit at the front of the wagon? This place…well-she stole a furtive glance in Lucan's direction-It smells like sickness-.

Devnet nodded, eager to get out of that depressing wood box. She helped her cousin, who naturally was still weak, to stand on her feet, and they moved to the front of the wagon. They drew aside the curtain that kept the cold abide and sat near the border of the carriage, wrapped in furs to protect themselves from the frostbite.

-How did you end up in Marius's dungeons?-Devnet asked bluntly then, resting her head against the wall behind her.

Her cousin scratched the back of her neck and slid her tongue through her cracked lips-I was careless-she shrugged-His men captured me trying to sneak inside his palace. It was pathetic, to be honest. Shameful, for someone like me-.

Devnet supposed Guinevere was probably a great spy, besides a warrior.

-What were you trying to sneak inside for anyway?-.

Gwen gave her a pointed look, her expression hard-Marius is a cruel man. He has harmed this land greatly-she grinned somewhat wickedly-Let's just say he wasn't very charmed by the knife I had upon my person-.

Devnet chuckled and wrapped the furs tighter around her-Grandfather must be worried about you-she pointed out.

-He had already taken me for dead, probably. But don't worry. He already knows your roman friend saved me-.

Devnet crooked and eyebrow questioningly and Guinevere giggled-I have my ways, _co-ogha_-The woad girl sighted deeply then-So in the end, Merlin's premonitions turned out to be true, though I don't know way it surprises me so, since they usually are. I can't believe it. Rome hasn't even left this land and we're already being invaded from the north-.

-I doubt they'll find little resistance-smiled Devnet, and her cousin shared her grin.

-In that you're right, cous. If there's something our people are good at it's putting up a fight-.

Devnet couldn't help but wince when she said "our" people, including her as part of the Blue People, stirring her usual old doubts. Woad or Sarmatian? Britannia or the Black Sea? Family or knights? Fortunately, Gwen didn't seem to notice, for her eyes had wandered off to look ahead at the knights, now riding in a group a few steps in front of the wagon.

-Strange fellows, Arthur's men-she commented-Dangerous, fierce, yet they seem deeply devoted to their commander-.

-They are all like brothers. Arthur never treated them as servants, but as equals. The men would follow him to ends of the earth and beyond-Devnet replied softly, looking at the lean backs of her beloved men, slightly hunched over their horses to make face against the snowy wind.

-I've fought a few-commented Guinevere.

-Really?-Devnet rarely saw Gwen in the numerous combats against the Woads. On purpose, the cousin's avoided each other during battle in an unspoken agreement. Fighting on opposite sides, they would rather keep themselves from facing each other.

Gwen nodded-The one with the hawk, who lead the caravan. He actually acts like one us-.

Devnet held back a faint smile, finding sense in what her cousin said. In completely different circumstances, Tristan would've probably felt quite at home with the Woads. Quiet like ghosts, deadlier than poison and untameable. He had much more in common with his enemies than with the men he supposedly fought for.

The woman's blue-brown eyes rested in front of her. Vahe and Iustitia rode side by side, white on one side, black on the other; as opposite, yet as close as the men who rode them. Devnet felt jealous of the wind, able to run her invisible fingers through Lancelot's curls while she could not. And she loathed herself for it, but she couldn't deny that bitter shadow inside her that appeared every time they had a serious fight. As if sensing her gaze upon his back, Lancelot turned his head barely enough to look over his shoulder out of the corner of his eyes. His deep black orbs pierced Devnet's own eyes for only a second, thought between them a second was always more than enough, before he turned to Arthur. The commander hadn't failed to notice those two had been at each other's throats again. Before he could reproach anything to him however, Lancelot averted his gaze wrathfully and kicked his stallion's flanks to ride ahead. A quiet sight escaped Devnet's lips, mixing with the snowflakes in the air.

-That one's your lover, isn't he?-.

Devnet paled at her cousin's question. She shook her head and turned her eyes away from the road-Him? Of course not-she replied shortly-I don't want a lover. Least of all him-.

-Liar-Guinevere held back a smile.

_Well, strictly speaking, I'm telling the truth_ thought Devnet.

-He's handsome-added Gwen after a moment-Is he any good in bed?-.

Despite herself, Devnet had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling-The man's a well-known womanizer. He's bound to be-.

-I see-replied the woad-So he's the kind of man that enjoys every woman until one comes and makes him fall?-.

-No-Devnet's face dropped back to her surly attitude-Lancelot might seem charming, which he is, in a way…but he's heartless. He knows no mercy-.

Guinevere didn't bother hide her scepticism. She was no romantic, nor did she duel on such fantasies, but she knew how to recognize things for what they were. Those two, if not in love, were at the very least deeply attracted to each other, no matter how much her cousin denied it. She knew when a man cared for a woman, even when blinded by his anger, and vice versa.

-Well, can you blame him?-she asked Devnet, crooking an eyebrow before looking away to the path-I don't think wanting to survive makes anyone heartless. And I don't mind being called dead weight. If I was in his situation I would've thought the same-.

Devnet opened her mouth, surprised, but Gwen answered her question before she even had time to formulate it inside her head.

-I heard you two arguing before. You were standing beside the wagon-she explained-That was quite a slap-. -

He deserved it-Devnet snapped through gritted teeth.

-I'm not saying he didn't. I'm just saying I understand his position-after a moment she added almost tenderly-He cares for you-.

Devnet chose not to answer. Instead she sank her face inside the furs until only her eyes were visible, and looked at the mountain slowly passing beside them. She had lost the mood to talk. Through the snow caught in her eyelashes, she saw Arthur slow down his mare to ride beside the wagon. Devnet avoided his gaze. Instead, the man turned to Guinevere, looking at her in silence. The woad girl returned his glance with a taunt smile that ended up making him uncomfortable and turn his face away. Devnet couldn't help but chuckle between the furs.

-My father told me great tales of you-Guinevere spoke to the young roman's back, still smiling.

-Really?-a very faint amused tone could be sensed in Arthur's reply, without turning back to look at the woman-And what did you hear?-.

-Fairy tales-sighted Guinevere after a moment of hesitation-The kind you hear about people so brave, so selfless that they can't be real. Arthur and his knights-she mocked with sarcasm-A leader both Briton and Roman-she studied the man thoughtfully and then added-And yet you chose your allegiance to Rome-her face darkened and her tone grew icy-To those who take what does not belong to them. That same Rome that took your men from their homeland-.

Irritated, Arthur cut her speech-Listen, lady. Do not pretend you know anything about me or my men-.

-How many Britons have you killed?-Guinevere pushed on.

-As many that've tried to kill me. It's the natural state of any man to want to live-.

-Animals live. It's the natural state of any man to want to live free. In their own country-.

Devnet's eyebrows jumped to her forehead as she looked from one to the other during their confrontation, without any of the two noticing. It was an interesting thing to watch Guinevere break through all of Arthur's arguments, and even though Devnet loved him dearly, she had to admit her cousin was right. She did not jump in his defence because of this, and because she had no right to stick her nose in between those two. They made an interesting mix. Devnet was no fool either. Like her cousin, she knew to recognize things from what they were. There was a spark between Arthur and the woad, of that there was no doubt. Devnet wondered what it would turn into. It seemed the conversation was over for now, but after a while Guinevere lifted her head.

-I belong to this land-she declared with a pride Devnet envied-Where do you belong, Arthur?-.

_Where do you belong?_ Though the question had been intended for her friend, Devnet took it personal too. _Where do you belong? Where, where, where…_ Arthur did not reply. After a while, he looked over his shoulders, his expression softened.

-How's your hand?-he asked Guinevere, eyeing her with someone who knew how to read his face, like Devnet, would've realized he was holding back a faint smile. The brunette nearly fell off the wagon. Holy Creiddylad! He's flirting with her!

A gentle smile slowly found its way to the girl's lips-I'll live, I promise you-she answered. The woad was thoughtful for a moment and then lifted her eyes again-Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart?-she asked, still slightly flirty-Your own father married a Briton-.

At these words, Arthur looked back to her once more.

-Even he must have found something to his liking-.

The young roman looked at Guinevere intensely, trying to guess her thoughts. To Devnet it all seemed pretty obvious, thought she also suspected there was more behind her cousin's words than simple coquetry. As she had expected, Arthur did not reply, but slowly turned away and rode off in search of his men. Devnet gave her cousin a pointed look, one of her eyebrows lifted.

-What?-asked Guinevere.

Devnet shrugged, stifling a giggle-Oh, nothing-she replied innocently, looking away with a furtive smile on her face. After a moment she commented-It's just that I'd never seen Arthur pay so much attention to a woman before-.

She heard Gwen mutter a curse in Gaelic under her breath.

Fate is a curious thing, some would have thought. It was funny how both cousins saw the other's intentions with one of those men, and yet did not realize upon their own.

After some time, Devnet grew restless, and could not stand sitting in the wagon any longer. She excused herself to Guinevere and went to look for Jols. She asked Gawain to rode off and see if he could find the groom and tell him to bring Cian to her. The stallion neighed cheerfully when he saw her, and after being helped to mount, Devnet grabbed the reins, feeling her whole body building up with renewed confidence, and she galloped away, thanking the snowy wind against her face. The burning in her right cheek was gone, and thought there was still a faint bruise to bear witness of Marius' slap, she felt like the incident had occurred a long time ago, and not that very morning. She trotted up and down the line of people, feeling free once more. She ran into Gawain somewhere in the middle of the caravan. He stood out from the villagers like a wolf amongst a flock of sheep, and adding that to his expression of profound boredom, he offered a rather comical sigh. Devnet giggled and trotted over to join him.

-How's it going?-she chipped cheerfully.

Her friend turned his shaggy face, whiskers covered in snow, looking almost pained-I'm the assigned nanny of all this old midwifes who have long passed their glory years and all they do is gossip about their daughters, their daughters' husbands and the way they raise their grandchildren. How do you think its going?-.

A hunched and sour-looking crone shot him a scowl that could've curled milk before hurrying away, muttering between her missing teeth. Devnet crooked and eyebrow at her friend.

Gawain shrugged-They don't seem to like me very much either-he added, sounding almost offended.

\- You could've have a bit more tact when voicing your complains about them-.

-I'm saving their lives!-.

-And insulting them too-.

-I didn't intend to-.

-Yes, you did-.

-No I di...all right, I guess it's fair enough-he sighted overdramatically-But really, can you blame me? I'm going half mad stuck between this people!-.

-Only half?-.

Gawain looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, and after a moment he began chuckling, shaking his head with amusement. What Devnet adored about that man, was precisely the ability he had to laugh at his own self. Devnet could have quite a mordant sense of humour, but when it came to Gawain she'd never had to worry about offending him. Out of the corner of her eye, something caught the attention of the little half-woad woman, and she turned her face to skim over the horizon. At first she couldn't quite identify what it was that had alerted her, but after a moment of struggling to see through the clouds of snow, she let out a small gasp.

-Oh, Gods-she whispered.

-What?-Gawain looked at her quizzically, leaning over to peer through the border of the gorge of the mountain.

Devnet pointed to the northwest-Look there, to the way we came. It's a cloud of smoke, isn't it?-she asked quietly.

Gawain narrowed his eyes to see through the snow. After a while his expression turned grave-The Saxons-.

Devnet paled-Are you sure?-.

-It must be them-her friend replied shortly-They must have reached the state and burned it after they found it empty-.

-Saxons only claim what they kill-half-whispered the girl, recalling the warning she'd been told since childhood.

-And only kill everything-finished Gawain, sombrely. He stood on his stirrups to look ahead and his frown deepened with concern-We'd better reach the next valley soon. Nightfall will delay them in the mountain slope, but our only chance is to get to the top before them-he pulled his reins short and hesitated-Should we tell Arthur?-.

Devnet shook her head. -Tristan's probably already taken care of that-she replied-He probably saw the column three miles ago-there was no amusement in her words this time, however. Danger was breathing to close over their necks to laugh.

But just when everyone began to feel invaded by the sensation that their ascent would go on and on forever until they reached the Heavens above, the caravan finally reached the mountain pass that snaked between narrow valleys between the peaks until it reached the low lands at the other side. A collective sight of relieve rose from the committee. They were safe for one more night.

But their relief did not last long. Just as Devnet and Gawain began feeling lighter, a low moan of horror composed by various voices came to them from the front of the caravan, rising like a wave. Uneasy, both friends stood on their stirrups in an attempt to see something, but some trees blocked their view.

Until they rounded a corner, and a scenery as grotesque as the dungeon's beneath Marius's palace displayed to their eyes at the side of the road.

Between the frozen trunks of the woods, numerous corpses were impaled against the trees with various spares, arrows and swords. Others simply had been left to die in the snow. Only the cold had faded the putrid smell of the bodies, but it had also preserved the crude horror of their deaths. Whom those bodies belonged to, probably to one of the many villages scattered around the mountains. Of their killers' identity there was no doubt.

-Saxons-Devnet heard Arthur mutter a few steps ahead. Devnet bit hard at her bottom lip when she passed beside a corpse with eyes unseeing, a spare protruding from his frozen insides and his skull split in half. Disturbed and nearly terrified, she averted her eyes from it. The caravan moved on in complete silence, for that was a graveyard. In common agreement, everybody quickened their pace, eager to leave that place behind.

After another couple of miles, the caravan was finally ordered to a halt, and the knights congregated at the beginning of the line. Detaining their mounts side by side, they faced the field that lay before them, completely covered in white, at the edge of a pinewood. The snow wouldn't stop falling, blurring their vision. Devnet pulled her hood up to shield her eyes from the flakes and stared at the landscape. They were near the mountain top. The path across the Lake of Sorrows was just some miles ahead; but there was no chance that they'd get any further that night with all that snow.

-We'll sleep here-determined Arthur; He pointed at the pines that stood on the other side-Take shelter in those trees-.

-They look close enough to each other to keep the snow away-agreed Devnet-We'll find ground to light fires. The people must be kept warm-.

-Arthur-Gawain leaned over, lowering his voice so none of the villagers would hear him by accident- Devy and I saw a column of smoke rising from the state just now. The Saxons are getting closer-.

-I know-nodded the commander, displaying a profound frown of concern in his face-Tristan?-.

The scout lifted the fist that held his falcon and caressed its beak gently-You wanna go out again?-he asked with fondness-Yeah-he thrust his fist in the air and the bird soared upward. After a moment, the quiet sarmatian trotted behind it.

Devnet heard Galahad shrug beside her-Sometimes I believe his in love with that damn bird-.

She crooked an eyebrow at her friend beneath her hood-Jealous?-.

A few chuckles followed her remark, and Galahad narrowed his sky blue eyes at her before showing his middle finger, holding back a smile. They scattered off to spread Arthur's orders along the caravan. Devnet turned to Guinevere's wagon and dismounted to help the old man that drove it to guide it away from the main road. While the man stood behind to push the carriage with a couple of other fellows, the young girl grabbed the shires' reins and began leading those tremendous horses towards the trees.

-'Tis a beautiful country, is it not?-.

Surprised, Devnet turned her head, but she realized that Guinevere was not talking to her, but to Lancelot, who had lingered behind, eyes fixed on the mountain landscape. The man looked over his shoulder with an undefined expression and shrugged.

-If you say so-he answered in a flat tone.

-And where do you come from, that compares?-inquired the woad-The Black Sea?-.

Devnet saw Lancelot turn his horse as to face her cousin, and suddenly, she felt a bitter taste in her mouth she couldn't quite explain. She saw that the knight nodded to Guinevere's question, though he did not add anything about the beauty of his homeland.

-This is heaven for me-commented Guinevere, continuing their conversation, eyes pierced on Lancelot. None had realized Devnet was overhearing every word, apparently. But then…why should they care?

-I don't believe in heaven-replied the dark knight, his tone sceptical-I've been leaving in this hell-He paused and neared Vahe closer to the wagon. His expression transformed and his eyes became taunt, matched with the shadow of a seductive smirk on his lips. Feeling something similar to a blow of wind in her chest, Devnet turned away, cursing herself for feeling jealous. She would not watch the man flirt with her cousin. But that did not prevent her from hearing it.

-But if you represent what heaven is-Lancelot went on in a husky and mysteriously gallant tone-Then take me there-.

The words hurt, not because of their seductiveness, but because of their sincerity. It was not a mare compliment, but an actual request, as if Lancelot somehow expected to find happiness through Guinevere. And not me… At that moment, a thunder cut the air and a strong rain began falling alongside the snow. Devnet blinked and shuddered, immediately wet from head to toes. She grabbed the reins of the horses again, eager to find some refuge beneath the pinewood. Through the rain, she saw Lancelot looked up and lifted his face to the skies, closing his eyes and allowing the water and the snowflakes to his face like two lovers, while he opened his palm in an attempt to catch them. For a moment, he looked younger, lighter…and peaceful.

-Rain and snow at once-he muttered after a moment, opening his eyes again to look at Guinevere, making Devnet's mood sombre even more. The faint trace of innocent was gone from the young man's face. Instead, he grinned wickedly-A bad omen-.

The hair at the back of Devnet's head prickled. Foul indeed where those times, if even superstitions seemed to become real.


	17. XIII) Heaven According to Lancelot

**Hello lovelies ! First of all I wanted to thank everyone whose giving their support for this story, its really makes my day 3 And secondly, I wanted to apologize for taking so long, but I've been having trouble with my computer (again) so Im dealing with really slow internet, but oh well...nothing will stop me xD I hope you enjoy the chapter, Because I put a lot of effort in expressing both Devnet's and Lancelot's feelings and thoughts without any of them stepping out of character :) And now I'll let you read an allow the story to keep telling itself on it's own 3**

Lady Augusta, Devnet decided, must have been one of the Christian God's angels. Kind as she was, the roman lady had set up a tub of warm water so that Guinevere could bathe her body after days imprisoned in those cells of hell. And luckily for Devnet, fortune had wanted her to pass by just as the lady ordered her maids to warm the water, and Augusta had kindly offered her a bath too.

The servants had cleared the wagon to enable it for their lady's wishes, and inside both of Merlin's granddaughters shed their dirty clothes, which Augusta took the liberty to take away to have them washed, and sank with sights of relieve inside the improvised tubs.

While Augusta helped Gwen, sliding the sponge through her back because the woad girl was still sore from her bruises and wounds, Devnet closed her eyes and allowed the warmth of the water to melt away the tension in her nerves. Outside, she could hear how the committee prepared for the night. The people clustered with their friends and family around the small fires lit and thanked that they had lived to see another day, escaping the Saxons. Thought they knew that sense of security was ephemeral and that their odyssey was far from over, for that night, they could breathe in peace knowing that they had gained more time on this earth.

Nothing produced more relieve than knowing you had survived for a little while longer.

Sighting, she opened her eyes and accepted the cloth that one of Augusta's maids offered her to clean her body, before the water went cold. Somewhere nearby, the young voice of a woman floated towards the comfortable little carriage, showering Devnet's ears with its notes.

_"Upon one summer's morning_

_I carefully did stray_

_Down by the walls of wapping_

_Where I met a sailor gay_

_Conversing with a young lass_

_Who seem'd to be in pain_

_Saying, William when you go_

_I fear you'll ne'er return again."_

That was strange. The song was not from the inland. Devnet had heard it before, when an old minstrel had come to the Wall in the company of a new legion of soldiers from the southern coast. She wondered how a village girl from the highlands had come to know it. Taking the wet cloth slowly through her body, she tilted her head to the side, pulling all of her hair over one shoulder to clean the other, and kept on listening:

_"My heart is pierced by Cupid_

_I disdain all glittering gold_

_There is nothing can console me_

_But my jolly sailor bold."_

Suddenly, a thrill crept from the base of her back up to her neck, the kind of tingle you got when been stared at. Just by the intensity of the cold shiver running up her spine, making her hold back her breath, she knew immediately who she'd find when she turned her face.

Slowly, she peered over her shoulder, meeting Lancelot's eyes. He was standing beneath the shadow of a tree, his dark hair lightly blown by the wind, with snowflakes caught between the curls. When their eyes touched, he lowered his gaze for a moment, before looking at her again. His face, pale against the moonlight, frowned slightly, his dark eyes narrowed with torment, as he observed the details of the small woman's body behind the curtain. The gentle curve of her arched back, the soft fall of her shoulders, the lazy patterns of her hair falling over her chest.

Regret. Anger. Passion. Always the same series of intense emotions one after the other…and beneath all of them…that which they both denied.

Finally, the dark knight seemed to sight heavily, and with a last glance over his shoulder, he walked away, leaving the sight, beautiful as it was tormenting to him, of the little half-woad behind.

Devnet realised the trembling breath she had been holding, rubbing her eyes. Not further away, the low feminine voice still sang to enchant the ears of those who heard her.

_"His hair it hangs in ringlets_

_His eyes as black as coal_

_My happiness attend him_

_Wherever he may go."_

Sometimes, it did seem like the Gods somehow enjoyed throwing all those ironical situations in her life.

Augusta insisted in lending both Gwen and her one of the dresses she'd managed to bring with her. Devnet felt slightly out of inside those vaporous skirts that fell in cascades of lilac around her frame. At least, thought the fabric was delicate, it was not particularly thin, so at least it was adequate for the snow. And the dress was simple too, though roman with no doubt. She'd never worn something so delicate in her life.

Once fully dressed and wrapped once more in her old black cloak, she made her way to the knight's campfire, eager to get something to eat, before those brutes ate it all. When they saw her approach, she rolled her eyes at their slow, smirking grins. Some even snorted in their plates, clearly amused by her new clothes.

Gawain whistled-Well, aren't you a proper roman lady now?-he teased, and the rest started laughing mockingly as well. Devnet smacked the back of the blond knight's head.

-Shut up and pass me the bread-she muttered, feeling her face burn bright red beneath her freckles as she took a sit beside Tristan. The scout looked at her out of the corner of his eye and Devnet was quite sure he stared chuckling-Stop it! It's just a dress! It's not like you've never seen me in one-.

-None as fancy as this-smirked Gawain, shaking his head. Devnet rolled her eyes and leaned over to snatch a loaf of bread from his hands.

-I asked you to pass me the bread-she snapped, though holding back a smile. She nudged Galahad when he started laughing again, followed by the others-Honestly now!-she glowered.

In the end she finally got them to shut up. They passed her some meat to accompany her bread, and a bowl of unidentified soup that tasted salty and sour, but she intended to eat it all.

-So-said Galahad casually, after a moment of silence, interrupting the merry cackling of the fire-Didn't that roman lady have a few spare gold bracelets to accompany such a pretty dress?-.

The idiot ought to be thankful for his good luck. Hadn't she been so hungry, Devnet would've tossed the soup over his head.

Lancelot sat nestled between the broad roots of an oak tree, isolated from the rest of his comrades. His swords still rested upon his back, unwilling to part them despite the discomfort. He rubbed his face, showing the first signals of exhaustion that day. As usual, he was paying the prices of having a long, sharp tongue, an impulsive and irritable character and the incapacity to keep control over both. He muttered a short curse in his native tongue.

A faint rustle of skirts distracted him from his bad humour, followed by a low, feminine voice:

-What was it like? -Guinevere asked, making him avert his gaze from the woods and look at her instead-Your home? -.

The young Pictish woman was enticed by that sullen man who preferred to sit away from the joy of his brothers at arms, and looked at everything with eyes as black as dark. The man Devnet denied to be her lover, but Gwen doubted those words to be truth. She hadn't failed to notice him staring at them while they bathed inside the wagon, and as much as it annoyed her a little, she'd known immediately that it was not her whom the knight had been looking at with eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, but her cousin.

His elusive reaction in the conversation they had had before, by the wagon, had left Guinevere feeling deeply intrigued about what lay behind those enigmatic eyes.

That strange sort of woad princess stood a few steps away, wrapped tightly around a red cloak, smiling against the soft wind that played with her raven dark hair. She smiled warmly at him. A smile he did correspond, but looked down for a minute, as if pondering whether or not to tell her, and then said, very seriously.

-We sacrificed goats, drunk their blood. Danced naked around fires-he couldn't help making a small grin at his words. Guinevere smiled too. It was a bitter joke, thought. For it was based upon the way the romans truly saw Sarmatians…as beastly barbarians.

Lancelot chuckled deeply at her face, shaking his head with a broad smile upon his face. He turned to look at her again, and found the woman still staring intently, awaiting for an answer. He realized that he would inevitably have to go back to those memories he tried to avoid as often as possible, or else she would never let the matter be. Although he had to admit there was also something that made him smile about that woman, or at least made him feel at peace, and he liked that.

And anyway, how bad could it be? Certainly he still had a few things to tell about Sarmatia. Good things. Beautiful things.

After a moment, he stood on his feet to stand above her height, resting his back against the tree trunk.

-What I do remember-he began after a moment of doubt, in a much more serene tone-Home-he muttered thoughtfully, as if the word left a strange taste of his mouth. A soft veil of nostalgia covered his features-Oceans of grass, from horizon to horizon. Further that you could ride. The sky…-his voice grew passionate without him even knowing it-Bigger that what you could imagine-he sighted with a melancholic, yet strangely fond smile-No boundaries-he stated.

Guinevere reflected upon those last words, and a knowing smile crept on her plump lips. Lips, Lancelot noticed completely out of context, that were incredibly similar to Devnet's.

-Some people would call that freedom-said the woad. Lancelot smiled at the idea.

-That's what we fight for-Guinevere went on-Our land. Our people-she paused and added with conviction-The right to choose our own destiny-she pierced the man with her doe brown eyes-So you see, Lancelot, we are much alike you and I-.

Lancelot tilted his head slightly and looked at her. He nodded, though not entirely convinced. Guinevere looked down and then smiled once more, this time almost cheerfully.

-And when you return home-she said, stepping closer to him-Will you take a wife? Have sons?-.

Lancelot shook his head, discarding such idea-I've killed too many sons-he confessed sombrely-What right do I have to my own?-.

Guinevere nodded thoughtfully, studying him**, **evaluating him as if trying to decipher a major enigma. His answers spoke of a cold dark sincerity-No family, no religion-she concluded sadly-Do you believe in anything at all? -.

For a moment, Lancelot considered the question, and any possible answer he could offer. His eyes, dark and grave, inevitably sprinted, just for one instant, to Devnet, sitting with the others beside a fire a few meters away. The little girl was laughing over something, wrapping her hands fondly around Galahads arm and hiding her face in his shoulder. Someone muttered something and she burst into laughter again, throwing what seemed like crumps of bread across the fire at Bors. Lancelot smiled slightly at the scene before sighting and looking back at Guinevere, his expression gone resigned and grave. He sighted, rolling his eyes.

-I would've left you in that void there to die-he admitted bluntly, with no apparent guilt.

For a moment, Guinevere did not know what to replay to that. Her mouth hanged slightly parted between the words she felt she ought to say, and the fact that there was really nothing to say at all. Should he curse him? Shout at him? Tell him she would've done the same? No. To what end?

Instead, she drew a different subject, that was still very much of her concern, and that she'd been reminded of by his reaction to her last question.

-I've seen the way you look at her, you know-she said suddenly-At my cousin-.

-Really?-Lancelot sounded sardonic, smiling as if the whole situation was a simple bad joke to him-And how is it that I look at her according to you, my lady?-.

Guinevere smiled faintly, diverted by the way that man fought against what he knew better than anyone else.

-Like she's the only star in the night sky-she replied softly, making Lancelot turn to look at her with both puzzlement and alarm.

-Do you deny it?-she added when the knight didn't say anything-Were my eyes fooling themselves when they saw you look at her with such longing before, by the wagon?-.

-I look at all women that way. It makes it easier to take them to bed-.

-No-Guinevere shook her head, looking very sure of what she said-No, there is a difference between the look a man gives a woman when he wants to bed her, and the one he gives her when he has feelings of some sort for her-.

-Tah!-Lancelot looked away, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. But Guinevere was far from done.

-You said you wouldn't take a wife, nor have children once you're free. Not even if it were with Devnet?-she inquired quietly-Do you think yourself not worthy of her?-.

The man was a hard wall to break through. It seemed that when he decided to remain quiet, nothing could be said to change his mind. However, after what seemed like an eternity, he looked back at the woad girl. His expression was grave, his black eyes resigned.

-Lady, after living with her nearly my whole life, I can assure you that the man that might be worthy of your cousin hasn't even been born yet. She deserves no ordinary man, and even though I'm far from considering myself ordinary, she'd beyond me as well-.

Guinevere quivered her eyebrows, surprised-Why do you think such thing?-.

-Because Devnet's a free spirit. And I am not. Even after the end of this service, if I survive to see it, I'll remain a prisoner of this life that has been chosen for me. A life of bloodshed, battlefields and death. Your cousin has had enough of that for a lifetime. It is not that I think little of myself, but I am not the right man for any woman, least of all for her-.

Guinevere pondered on those words for a moment, looking at the ground in deep thought, and finally said, suggestively:

-Why don't you let her make that decision herself?-.

The woman made a last small smile before making her way back to the fire, leaving the knight alone with his sombre thoughts, his bitter decisions…and his secret longings. Just before disappearing back to the heart of the camp, she turned and said loud enough for him alone to hear:

-You're not nearly as bad as you pretend to be, Lancelot. And I think you that better than anyone else-.

He did not replay.

Lancelot was a very intriguing man, she thought. And odd. She'd seen cases of hopeless souls…but never one that made itself hopeless on purpose by discarding what it truly wanted.

As the night extended herself over the camp in a cloak of shadows, people scattered off to prepare for passing the night as comfortable as possible, considering their circumstances. Devnet, however, isolated herself from the rest and instead, wondered off into the woods. She felt pain in a body part that didn't even exist, like a second heart that needed neither blood nor air to beat. Even sadness couldn't stop him. She had seen Lancelot talking with Guinevere from where she'd sat with the others by the campfire, and not even that managed to cease that invisible heart's rhythm. I had just filled her with a kind of bitter acceptance.

Just outside the camp, the forest already felt cold and solitary. She paced were her hand extended to trace the patterns of the tree trunk, with no clear destination but the next step ahead. She found a way to cross the small river nearby, carefully climbing between the rocks. The bed of pinewood thorns muffled her steps. The moon ruled over her head, fair, full and already quite advanced on her route across the night sky, surrounded by her ladies, the stars. Devnet sighted, feeling her heart small and melancholy beneath its iridescent shine.

By accident or by fate, she came to stand beneath the shadow of a massive, old ancient tree. The magic of old was strong inside its trunk, flowing like a hidden river of life beneath Devnet's palm. The young woman closed her eyes and elevated a prayer to her mother and her patron goddess, _Flidais_, lady of the woodlands and the wildlife. She heard the goddess replaying in a soft voice that said no word, but sang with the voice of nature. A soft wind blew a couple of leaves away from their branches, and the both danced gracefully to the ground, gracing Devnet's faintly freckled face with a whisper.

Something creaked at her back and soon after Devnet felt the familiar thrill of the black gaze upon her back. She closed her eyes before looking up to the massive cloak of branched and leaves, wondering if it intended to protect her from him, or to protect them from the rest of the world. The tree, however, kept its mythical abilities for divination hidden from her knowledge.

-The ash tree is sacred to my mother's people-she whispered after a minute of holding her breath in silence, without turning her head tilted to the skies-Even in times of cold and scare firewood; the Woads refuse to cut it. It protects us of ill fate. It is said that everything that happens beneath the shadow of an ash tree is blessed-with that she turned to look at him. Lancelot stepped beneath the leaves to stand so close to her, his breath fluttered her eyelashes.

-What if something that's already cursed acts beneath it?-he murmured.

Devnet looked him in the eye and barely smile-Nothing cursed can trespass the shadow of an ash tree-she replied. Lancelot lowered his eyes and sighted heavily, hunching his shoulders when he did.

-Lancelot-Devnet called him softly, making him look back at her face-The world isn't a perfect place. And perhaps it will never be. But it can be _better_-a faint spark glittered in her eyes-Through compassion. Think of all the bad that could've been spared if someone at some point in history had had compassion. Entire wars could've been stopped perhaps, if someone had valued forgiveness over vengeance. And entire nations could've been saved by a voluntary helping hand. Arthur believes we can contribute a grain of sand to this world by saving this people from the Saxons. And I believe him. Maybe it _is_ madness. Maybe we will end up dead. But maybe…maybe we can give _life_-.

Lancelot sighted and rolled his eyes with resignation-Devnet, throughout my entire life I haven't been able to afford thinking like that. I can't afford being idealistic like Arthur and you. All I can think of, all I've ever focused in is survival. And my compassion ends were my brothers' life does. And yours. I can't give my life for any other-.

Devnet touched the side of his face, preventing him from averting his gaze.

-Lancelot, there are bigger things than those in life-she whispered passionately-Even bigger than your friendship with Arthur, or the rest of them, or us, or-

-_Nothing_'s bigger than us-he cut her off shortly.

Devnet blinked in surprise and her expression went bitter-And what of the heaven you wanted Guinevere to show you?-.

-I wasn't talking to Guinevere when I said that-he answered. The man stepped even closer and slid a hand tenderly over her shoulder-If you had turned but once, you would've realised I was looking straight at you when I said those words. If there's a heaven of some sort, anywhere, you are what represents it to me-.

Devnet looked him in the eyes, at the passionate, turbulent emotions rooted in those pools of black ink**. **With those words her heart, both the physical and the intangible, bit like a war drum inside her chest. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his, seeking solace. He kissed her temple.

-Devnet. I lo-she laid her fingers over his lips, sealing them before he had the chance to finish. _Gods knew_ how much she wanted to hear those words from him. How much she longed for the sound of his voice telling her he loved her. But she knew that this time, that this moment, could not be. That it couldn't be said.

-Do not say words that will make you doubt-she whispered with kind resignation, trying to smile. Beneath her finger-tips, Lancelot made a sad, loop-sided grin. He grabbed her pale little fingers and kissed them slowly.

-I can't be the man you want-he whispered with exhausted resignation, closing his eyes as he held her fingertips to the side of his face.

-Don't be. I don't want any kind of man anyway-she whispered back, pressing her forehead against his, looking at him with those big blue eyes of hers. The man's words hurt her, but not as much as it pained her to accept them. As it occurred to him. Her lips grassed his, like a promise of sunshine and hope on that cold winter night.

-You're still young. Look for a good man when all of this is over. Get married, form a family, live in peace. Enjoy the life that was denied to the rest of us-.

Devnet closed her eyes, feeling Lancelot's breath flutter her eyelashes. The events they were immersed in up to their necks had drained her from resistance. She did not mind touching the issue anymore. Not that night-Not if you're not in it-.

She heard him suck his breath abruptly, but he didn't replay. Gathering up her courage, the girl decided to take a step on thin ice, though knowing she couldn't go too far.

-Lancelot-she murmured, standing on her tip toes in an attempt to reach him-Just for this one night…let us be lovers-.

-_Petite_-the knight's voice was thick and husky, heavy with passion and emotion, he grabbed her pale face in his hands-Deep inside…We've _always_ been lovers-.

He landed his mouth on top of hers voraciously, with the strength of a storm, making everything inside them burst into such flames they've could've melted the snow all around them. Devnet felt her feet depart from the ground when Lancelot took her in his arms and pressed her gently against the ash tree, seeking her neck with his mouth. She exhaled a faint, pleasant moan, closing her eyes and tugging softly at the black curls tangled between her fingers. Lancelot's hand moved slowly up her thighs, pulling back the purple skirts of her dress. His hands were cold against her marbled bare legs, but she didn't mind. Toying with his tongue, completely abandoned to passion, she began unlacing the straps from his armour. One by one the metal pieces dropped with a sonorous clang to the ground. Lancelot slid his finger beneath the shoulder sleeves of her dress and gently slid them down her forearm, leaning over to trace the curve of her pale shoulder with his lips. He kissed her skin openly at the same time that he pulled her closer to him, until they were part of a sole column that at the same time was part of the ash tree behind them.

Once Lancelot was free from the weight of his armour they dropped slowly to the ground, their kisses becoming more and more sensual. Lancelot's right hand went back to Devnet's leg and slowly, he took her boot off, followed by the thick woollen socks. He kissed the small, blue tinted tattoo of the triple wave on the bone at her ankle.

-Little half-woad-he whispered in a low voice, tilting his head to the side to rest it on the hand Devnet held against his cheek-You kill me with every touch-.

He repeated the procedure with her other boot while she kissed the side of his neck. Her mouth travelled up to find the small scar he hid behind his ear, courtesy from a strayed arrow.

-And you murder me with a single look-she whispered back, sucking at his earlobe.

For a moment, Lancelot closed his eyes and forced himself to think he could not have this woman. He tried imagining her in the future, with a happy life free of worry and sorrow. A spacious house with children tossing like pups on the ground, a couple of horses to keep her company on those long walks she loved to take across the fields, a husband to hold her and offer her warmth at night. The mere idea of her giving birth to children that were not his, of her laying naked in bed in the arms of another man sickened him to unexpected limits**.** Now they were at the crossroad that opened the doors to all those paths; and everything they had ignored or dealt with only superficially, was escaping their control. As selfish as it was, part of him did not want her to have that life.

-I can't let you go-he half groaned when she moved her hips against his.

-Then don't. Never let me go-.

Lancelot pulled his face away just enough to study those delicate features that floated in front of him. He traced every curve of Devnet's face with his fingers, though he already knew them by heart. Each form, thin and beautiful as the features of a high-born lady, however slightly marked and removed from its innocence by a lifetime of seeing those she loved die.

Lancelot did not know much about gods, whether if they were Sarmatian, Celtic or any other religion, but he did remember a small religious statue that his mother had showed him once, many years ago, in what now seemed to have been another life. "The goddess of love and beauty, my son. But even more, of happiness, for your heart will not know real beauty until you experience the love from a woman. A day shall come in which you'll worship the Lady, over any war God you come to know. I pray that her blessing be with you, because there is no man as miserable as one who has never known love ". He had not understood his mother's words back then and little had it mattered to him. And even now he refused to admit to have found their meaning in Devnet. But remembered the blurred factions of that statuette. And they had been much alike those he was now stroking, trying to leave his soul in the skin of the little half-woad.

They undressed slowly and hesitantly, for despite the refuge offered by the roof of the forest, the wind still brought a few snowflakes, reminding them that it was winter, and that danger was lurking close behind. Devnet did not remember the last time she'd been so mesmerized by the scars carved over the body of that man.

They made love quietly and passionately, but slow, as if they were determined to cling to that moment of fleeting happiness that escaped them through their own fingers. Devnet rested her forehead against Lancelot sweat-beaded brow, pushing away the wet curls falling over his forehead, while her other hand rested over the man's incessant pounding heart. Lancelot sought her lips desperately; craving for that feeling of life that not even air could give him.

After reaching that secret corner, similar to Heaven, which only Devnet could show him, in a sense that showered over them and alienated them from the world, they laid down still naked amongst the clutter of clothes and blankets, huddled in a tangle of bodies curled around each other like wind currents.

Devnet ran her fingers down Lancelot's cheek, enjoying the scratch of his beard against her fingertips.

-Look at me, dark knight-she whispered. Lancelot opened his eyes lazy and struck those black depths into Devnet's irises, before leaning down and kissing the corner of her mouth, her neck and finally her lips.

-Sleep, _petite._ For this night shall not last forever.

**The song does not belong to me, I took it from "Pirates of the Caribbean: In Stranger Tides"**


	18. XIV) Prophecy of a King

**Finally! I know I've taken ages to upload this chapter.I had many problems; I had to change my PC, restart the intenet a thousand times, and I was up to my neck with exams, but eventually I've managed to finish this. I will be editing thing or two, but since I've taken so log, I'll upload anyway. Thank you very much for your patience and forgive my delay 3 Don't forget to vote and comment, it really means the world to me 3**

_*Thirteen years ago*_

_Devnet felt her throat burn and her eyes cry, though she was far away from the smoke, safely protected between her father's arms. The little girl buried her face in the man's chest, sobbing. She was terrified. In the distance, the hellish glimmer of the fire soared towards the night, and the wind brought, along with the smoke, the sounds of battle from the village, were the roman defenders struggled to repeal the woad assault, though their disadvantage, if not defeat, was quite clear. After some time, Devnet dared to look around, pulling the long strands of her hair away from her pale round face. Her eyes skimmed through the small crowd. The young sarmatian knights clustered around Sir Aynor and Bayard, some sombre, others scared, most pale. The young, boys barely older than Devnet herself, clung to the elders, and yet every single one of them was in silence and did not shed a single tear. They'd been brought to that island to fight, to face danger and to kill. They might as well get used to those situations from the start._

_-Dada? -Devnet tugged at a single braid that extended from her father's short hair, and hung below his shoulders._

_Aynor was staring gravely at the fire, it's flame projecting a game of light and shadows over his eyes, but when his daughter called him for the second time, he blinked and turned._

_-What is it, little poem? -he asked, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible as to not alarm her._

_-Where's Arthur and his momma?-._

_Aynor's features froze beneath his beard. His eyes went empty and wild, as he turned to look back the flames with horror._

_-Fuck-he muttered under his breath, momentarily forgetting his daughter was right there in his arms._

_-What?-asked Bayard, seeing his superior's expression._

_-Ygrane. She and Artorius were supposed to be at the village tonight-._

_Bayard lifted his eyebrows with shock before frowning-We must aid them before it's to late. I'll get the horses!-._

_-There is no time-replied Aynor. His mind, as strategically sharp as always after a lifetime of battle, was already thinking ahead on what he should do. Though he hated to leave Devnet precisely in that moment, he told himself that she was already safe, while Uther's son, his best friends heir, and his wife, were not._

_-Lancelot-he motioned to that grave young boy that always studied everything with an amazing seriousness considering he was only ten. If it weren't because the boy was the spitting image of his father at that age, Aynor would've never guessed he was Bran's son._

_-Yes, sir?-the boy stepped closer. His tone had a rebellious edge to it. He did not like orders, that one. "The lad has a volatile, eruptive sense of humour, just like his father"._

_-Take Devnet-the man gently unlaced his daughter's arm from around his neck and lowered her to the ground, despite her feeble attempt to clung to his body. Despite being still a boy, Aynor had decided to leave Devnet with him because he seemed to have developed some sort of bond or infatuation in the little girl. Of those who were not her own age, Lancelot was by far Devnet's favourite, an act Aynor had his fares hare of doubts would prove to be any good in the future. But for now, the man concluded there was no one better to keep his daughter calm._

_-No, dada!-she cried, alarmed by the idea of being separated-Don't go there!-._

_-Listen, Devy-Aynor sighted and knelt so he was at the same eye level as the little child-I have to help Arthur and the Lady Ygrane. You don't want them to get hurt now, do you?-._

_Trembling from heads to toe, the girl nodded weakly, with tearful eyes._

_-I'll be back in no time, sweet one. Be brave, stay with the boys until I return-he pulled his cloak away from his shoulders and draped over his daughter's back -Here, don't get cold-._

_After wrapping her up, the man pressed his lips against her pale little forehead before standing back on his feet. Lancelot steeped behind Devnet and placed his pale hands on her shoulders, protectively._

_-Dagonet-the knight turned to one of the older boys-You're in charge until Bayard and I return. Do not move from this place unless you find yourselves in danger. And under no circumstances get separated-._

_Both warriors left then, as swift as they were silent, as shadows, across the field, towards the fire. And suddenly the Sarmatian boys found themselves alone in that strange land they had come to only a year before, and they looked around. They were disorientated, but they had battle in their blood. Whatever was tossed to them, they'd react. After all, it was part of their keen's nature. Pride, power and fierceness. Devnet was sucking at her thumb, nervous. The rest looked at the fire gravely, making no sound safe for their breathing. Not even so much as a whisper. They stood at the shadow of the hillside, with solemnness, knowing that their future roman commander, a boy just like them, might not survive the night. They knew that their own fate was conditioned by such events. Their lives and their freedom._

_But all they could do was wait._

_Arthur was sitting at the steps outside the door to his old house, which had been into nothing but coal and ashes the night his mother died, watching with empty eyes the black dirt beneath his nails. He'd been looking around the remains in hope of finding an old golden locket that his father had given Ygrane the day of their wedding...but the precious object had been taken by the native rebels too, just like his mother' life._

_Lancelot found him right there. When Arthur saw him standing a few steps away, hands in his pocket, he quickly wiped away the tears from his eyes leaving a dirty trail of black dust on his face, feeling slightly embarrassed. Though they were the same age, the grave sarmatian saw him like a child who until that point had known nothing about real life, and he usually treated him with disdain._

_-What do you want? -snapped Arthur, struggling to keep his voice steady._

_The other boy stared at him with those vicious black eyes that made Arthur feel uncomfortable, before saying-I just came to check you were fine-._

_Arthur, blinked, surprised, and then narrowed his eyes with mistrust. Lancelot had never been nice to him, and for what little he could guess about the boy, he was not the kind that had a change of heart from one morning to the next-Why?-he frowned, cautiously-You don't even like me-._

_Lancelot shrugged. To Arthur's eyes, he always seemed very pale and sickly looking, because he was skinny and he usually had black half-moons beneath his eyes. But Arthur had heard sir Aynor comment to Bayard that some man named Bran, Lancelot's father, had been just like his son at that age, and then, in just one summer, he became lean and muscular, and soon he had every girl chasing behind him. Arthur wondered if Lancelot's case would prove to be similar._

_-Maybe-the sarmatian boy replied stiffly, with elusive eyes-But someone has to make sure you don't commit one of your stupidities and...I don't know, through yourself down a well-he rolled his eyes and smirked wickedly._

_Arthur sprang to his feet, clutching his fists into tight balls at his side-DON'T YOU DARE MAKE FUN OF ME! YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT MY PAIN! LEAVE ME ALONE!-. _

_-I know nothing?-Lancelot repeated in a cold, dangerous tone. His black eyes narrowed-I KNOW NOTHING!? I was taken away from my home. I might never see my family again. I've lived my whole life knowing I was little more than a lamb raised to the slaughter and you say I now nothing of pain!?-Lancelot's features hardened with fury-YOU ARE THE ONE THAT KNOWS NOTHING. You've lived happy, and comfortable. Unafraid, unthreatened and free. You're nothing but a spoiled little roman that thinks the world is all about their straight roads and their magnificence shit. But the real world is this, all that you're living right now. It's cruel, painful and it doesn't care whether you like it or not. Get used to it, like the rest of us have, and do everyone a favour by starting to be worth risking our lives for-._

_ In a fit of rage, the little roman lunged forward to push him, but Lancelot stepped aside lightly and instead, he fell face down in the dirt. _

_-Stop being a baby, Artorius-. _

_Arthur rolled to a sitting position to stare at that boy. He couldn't understand why Lancelot was so cruel to him. From the start Arthur had been nice to him and his companions. He wanted to show Lancelot he respected him, that he wanted to be his friend, but the young sarmatian always caught him off. A warm trail slid down Arthur's nose, and after wiping his face, his sleeve came out smeared in blood. With profound frustration and hurt, he eyed the other boy resentfully from the ground, covered in black dirt and blood. _

_Curiously, Lancelot's expression almost seemed to soften. The boy sighted while rolling his eyes once more, and then, much to Arthur's surprise, he extended his hand to help him stand. _

_-I'm sorry-said the dark-eyed boy, making Arthur feel even more astonished. But if just a moment ago, he hadn't seemed sorry ago, how could he change so fast? "God, this boy is really weird". _

_Still reluctant, Arthur accepted Lancelot's apology and allowed the boy to pull him up. He wiped his nose once more, only managing to smear his face even more and sighted heavily, looking at Lancelot as if expecting him to say what was next. But actually Lancelot had no idea what to do now either. As much as he acted out as wise, in the end he was still a boy with nothing but a slight sense of superiority given to him by anger, resentment and the need to prove himself better than his captors. But in truth, Arthur had little to do with the romans that had taken him from his home, save for sharing the same culture. He hadn't realized that when Aynor had ordered him to look for Artorious, the knight actually intended to push those two together on purpose. Lancelot's rebellious attitude towards orders would surely cause him trouble in the future, so perhaps it was better if he forged a brotherly bond with the man that would give him such orders, so that he wouldn't receive them as such. As for Arthur, he was quite sure that if he managed to break through that ill-tempered sarmatian's heart, he would be able to handle all the other knights in the years to come._

_ "An unexpected bond can turn mortal enemies into valuable allies". _

_Lancelot sighted and grabbed the other boy's forearm awkwardly to catch his attention-Listen-he began in a grave tone. His black eyes, however, if not kind, did look at least empathic-This is like receiving a punch in battle. You can't drop to your knees, no matter how hard the blow is. Your mother's death...well, it's only the beginning. We are at war for the right to remain here, whether if it's real or not. We have little choice in the matter-he sneered in disgust before continuing-And those people-he pointed vaguely towards the North-They are our enemies now. It won't be the last time they come around to kill. They want the romans out of their land-. _

_Arthur closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, nodding-I understand-he met Lancelot's black eyes with fierceness-I really do-he assured, more firmly-You are right. Crying is for children, not for knights. I cannot mourn like the rest of them-. _

_Lancelot's mouth seemed too twitched slightly to the side and Arthur realized the boy was actually smirking faintly. Without either of them realizing it, the little roman had won a spark of the young sarmatian's respect. Arthur dared to share his future knight's grin-I promise before you, Lancelot. Never again will I sit back and cry instead of facing adversity. As long as I live, no one will die as long as I can lift a sword, and those I can' save, I will avenge-he placed a hand on the other lad's shoulder, growing more animated-I will honour the place left for me by my father. I will honour my mother's memory. I will fight, and protect, and triumph for freedom and justice-. _

_Lancelot couldn't help but grin wider, dangerously. Those words did appeal more to him-Now you sound like a true leader-he crooked an eyebrow-A bit to altruistic for my liking, but I guess it's a start-. _

_*end of flashback*_

Devnet woke up in the dead of the night, struck by a sudden feeling that something called at her. She sat, looking around as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, holding the cloak that covered her nakedness. Lancelot slept soundly beside her, wrapped in their improvised covers with their clothes and their capes. Suddenly, the girl was fully conscious of the icy chill around her, giving goose bumps on her skin. She turned her head to look at the trees and that's where she saw him.

Merlin stood beside the ash tree, the moon peeking through the trees behind him. Devnet blushed and pulled the cloak tighter around her, embarrassed to the roots of her hair. How long had the woad magician been standing there, watching the two naked lovers in silence? Deep inside she knew Merlin had no intention on spying on them. She immediately realised the reason he was there was one of vital importance. It was the only logical explanation she could find.

Without a word, he told Devnet to follow him. Shivering, the girl pulled her gown over her head. She toyed with the idea of waking Lancelot, fearing he might freeze in the cold, but he seemed so at peace for once, she contented herself by covering him better. After that, she trailed silently behind her grandfather; somehow sure that whatever he wanted with her was something serious.

A faint wind rustled the leaves as if wanting to reveal them secrets from the spirits of the Gods. Devnet reached her grandfather as to walk by his side. But Merlin remained silent. He was leading her somewhere. And Devnet had the sensation that she was about to witness something important. For what? Her life? The Woads? History itself? She could not know. But a turn of events was cliffhanging in the air.

The world around them was made of winter shadows, darkness and moonlight. Thick, twisted figures of black trees surrounded them like silent guards of the forest, as if they weren't the forest itself. Devnet felt the whisper of the Gods' voices in her ear, playing with the waves of her hair gently, drowning the air with their power. The forest became mythical and ancient with every step Merlin took. Devnet followed his footprints in the thin layer of snow, trying to understand the tongue of the wind. They stopped at the edge of a small glen, surrounded by walls of rock and thick oaks as old as time. Devnet parted her lips to ask what it was that they were doing there, but her wise grandfather simply pressed a finger against his own lips, silencing her before she spoke, and pointed at the glen. Devnet's eyes molten in blue and chestnut followed his finger, and she observed.

Descending from the narrow path between the rocks, Guinevere stepped into the glen. Her feet made no sound when they rested on the ground. She moved like the silent figure of the very Morrigan, solitary and proud, roaming her trees. Her land. When her woad cousin reached the middle of the glen, she stopped and slowly, turned to look the way she'd come. To Devnet's surprise, Arthur came behind the woman. His steps were cautious and he kept one of his hands close to the hilt of his sword. He too seemed to have followed Guinevere as if compelled like some ancient Celtic magic. His face wore a mixture of curiosity, mistrust and anxiousness. He paused right in front of the woad girl, hesitant. Guinevere, thought taller than Devnet herself, was much smaller compared to Arthur, having to look up to meet his eyes, in a strange wave of emotions. Puzzled, all Devnet could do was stare at the intense exchange by those two character before her eyes. She was not sure of what to expect.

Suddenly, Guinevere turned her head and looked straight to where Merlin and she stood. Slightly confused, Arthur followed her gaze, and when seeing the woad leader walking towards him, he stumbled backwards in alarm and immediately drew Excalibur from its sheath, pointing at Merlin with it.

-You betrayed me! -he accused Guinevere.

The women looked at him out of the corner of her dark eyes and calmly said-He means you no harm-.

-Peace between us this night, Arthur Castus!-cried Merlin, slowly descending to the glade with his staff. Devnet remained at the edge, not daring to go any further. Arthur looked around to check there were no more warriors hiding in the trees, and instead he stumbled upon the little half-woad standing where Merlin had second before. He locked eyes with Devnet for a second, and she shook her head, making him understand she had had nothing to do with all of that and that she was as confused as him.

-So, Rome is leaving-continued Merlin when he reached the foot of the slope-But the Saxon is coming-his blue face held itself proudly as he fixed his mythically looking eyes on Arthur. His voice grew almost prophetical-The world we have known and fought for is ended. Now, we must make a new world-.

Devnet's brow frowned slightly, as did Arthur's, trying to fully comprehend the woad leader's words. Devnet rested her hand against the tree at her side and bit her lip, expectantly.

-Your world, Merlin, not mine-Arthur cut the man short coldly-I shall be in Rome-.

A shiver ran down Devnet's spine. _And me?_

-You think you'll find peace? The Saxon will come to Rome-affirmed the elder man casually.

-My knight's trust me not to betray them to their enemy-with those words Arthur went straight to the point, for what other purpose could've Merlin have for luring him into an unwanted parley if not to negotiate and allegiance? The real question was...why? It didn't make any sense to Devnet. Merlin had an entire tribe to lead into battle. Arthur and his knights, as skilled warriors as they were, would suppose little difference against the Saxons.

-Rome was my enemy-answered the blue man in a quiet voice. He narrowed his eyes with intensity-Not Arthur-he breathed in deeply-We have no fight between us-.

-You tell that to the lives you killed before my eyes, whose bones are buried in this earth-the roman pointed the tip of his sword to the ground, his voice charged with resent.

Merlin shook his head-We've all lost brothers-he declared solemnly.

-YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THE LOSS I SPEAK!-Arthur stepped closer to the woad magician-Shall I help you remember?-he suggested coldly, his tone growing sombre-An attack on a village. The screams of an innocent woman...-.

Devnet pressed a hand to her lips, closing her eyes sadly as the old memory of the Lady Ygrane came floating back to her; and with it, the witness of Arthur's pain at the loss of his mother, by the hands of the men commanded by Merlin himself. Even from that distance, she could sense that old torment, slowly stirring up inside her best friend's chest.

-I ran to the burial mount of my father to free her-the man's green eyes rested upon the edge of Excalibur in his hand, the sword that had once belonged to Uther Castus, pulled from the earth by his own son. Suddenly, Arthur lifted the sword and rested the tip right beneath Merlin's neck-To kill you-.

Devnet gasped, bearing witness at how that man she loved so much slowly lose control of his acts. His eyes were mad with old grief and anger. He was fierce and terrible, imposing and atrocious. And now, he was barely an inch of killing Merlin right before his two granddaughters' eyes. The roman didn't even flinch in Devnet's direction.

-I can feel the heat of that fire even now-he added in a low tone.

Devnet felt taken back to that fatidic night years before. Felt the smoke watering her eyes, the sound of the thunder crashing against each other. Lightning tearing apart the night sky. The distant cries that came from the assaulted village. The panic she'd felt, not knowing whether if her father was alive, if Arthur was alive, not even certain of living to see morning. If that night had been torment to her, to Arthur it could've only meant Hell on earth.

-I did not wish her death-Merlin's answer came out slightly tinted with sorrow beneath the apparent calmness of his voice-She was of our blood...-he paused and then stated-As are you-.

It was at that moment that Devnet was struck by the sudden idea that perhaps Merlin was not talking to Arthur only, but to her as well. The woads were claiming their loyalty through the blood they shared. Indirectly, those words were also aimed at her.

-If you're so determinate to leave us to slaughter-Guinevere stepped into de conversation with a little reproachfulness-Why did you save so many?-.

Arthur looked to the ground, pondering that soft question that evidenced the fact that his actions did not completely match his words. For the first time, Devnet saw Arthur doubt the roman path he'd vowed to follow. Now the youngest commander in the history of Hadrian's Wall was beginning to understand the enigma of fate Devnet herself was struggling with every waking hour. After a moment of cold tension in which the weight of both Merlin and Guinevere's words hung suspended in the air like a prophecy, Arthur finally lowered his sword.

-My men are strong, but they have need of a true leader-explained Merlin, encouraged by the man's reaction-They believe you can do anything-he added, and Devnet could've sworn he had smile, though it was hard to tell from her position at the crown of the hill-To defeat the Saxons we need a master of war. Why do you think I spared you in the forest?-.

So Enyak's suspicions about Merlin's motives for the ambush back at the woods a few days before were right. The magician had spared the knights because he was in need of them. In need of Arthur and the leader than resided inside him. Merlin stepped to stand by Guinevere's side. Both grandfather and granddaughter faced the commander, the elder proud; the woman fierce. High symbols of the Pictish dynasty. Devnet felt the blow of jealousy and sadness, knowing that she could've been part of that image. Guinevere had everything with Merlin that she did not. Between them there was a bond, between them, they were grandfather ad granddaughter and of that there was no doubt to no one's eyes. But if Devnet had been standing beside the magician instead, she knew they would've seemed like strangers.

-That sword you carry is made of iron from this earth-Merlin pointed out, eyeing Excalibur with solemnity-Forged in the fires of Britain, wielded by our old heroes. It was the love for your mother that freed the sword, not hatred for me-he searched for the roman's soul with his eyes-Love, Arthur-he repeated.

He'd said similar words to Devnet during their meeting on Samhain Night _"The most powerful weapon to win a war, is something much stronger, and much more complicated"_. It was like all the lines were finally converging near to a breaking point, gaining a sense that had not been present when they had first been traced.

-It is you destiny-assured Guinevere, without averting her eyes from Arthur's face, and preventing him from averting his own. The magnetism in her dark eyes was unbreakable.

-There is no destiny-Arthur spat sceptically-There is only free will-he finally turned his back to the couple, clearly annoyed and deeply disturbed.

-And what of the free will of you knights?-.

Arthur stopped dead on his tracks. Merlin's words had struck him where it pained him the most. He did not turn, but Devnet could see his shoulders tense. When sure that he had Arthur's attention, Merlin pressed on-They've died in vain? For years they died to protect this island. Now you'll allow it to be invaded but those enemies you've fought against for so long? What purpose will your fallen knights' deaths have then?-.

For a moment, it seemed Arthur would turn and reply. Devnet saw him clench his fist at either side, but in the end, he walked away without saying a word, leaving the suspense of Merlin's last reflexive question in the air. With a heavy sight, Merlin watched him leave, and when the knight had disappeared through the trees, his gaze turned upwards to look at Devnet, and he motioned for her to come closer.

Devnet descended with trembling legs, her feet clumsily slipping with the loose soil. Flushed and uncomfortable she stood up straight in front of his powerful grandfather and her cousin, whom like Merlin, looked regal, and even slightly ethereal. They were the rightful owners of those lands, their domains, their pride and their power. And Devnet was little more than an outsider. Merlin didn't even speak to her, but turned to Guinevere and touched the girl's fair cheek with a fondness so pure, simple and innocent that made Devnet feel jealous, for he had never been so fatherly with her. The distance that separated her from her blood relatives was perhaps, too great.

-You have done your part well in this game, child, at least for now. However, I would ask of you to remain with Artorius's committee, as a strong remainder of this conversation. Do not allow him to deceive himself. The seed of doubt had been planted, now you must take care that it grows. There is still hope-.

Guinevere smiled faintly, like pristine snow beneath the shadow of a winter sun, and bowed her head slightly before grabbing Merlin's hands between hers and kissing his palm. -As you wish, my Athair Críonna-she replied in her rich, low voice, dark eyes shining.

Pleased, Merlin finally shifted his attention to Devnet, whose gaze was melancholy laid upon the ground. Gently, the elder's blue tinted fingers picked his granddaughter's chin and lifted her face to the cold moonlight-And you, mi little caillte gaelach, remember what you have just witnessed, for when the time comes-.

-The time?-Devnet looked at him, perplexed-What time?-.

He offered her no answer, but instead leaned over to place a blessing kiss upon her brow before starting to disappear into the depths of the forest without another word.

-Grandfather!-Devnet called after him in desperation-The time for what?!-.

-Can't you guess it?-. Astonished, Devnet looked at Guinevere quizzically, only to find a similar expression in her cousin's eyes. The woad girl's eyes narrowed in disbelief and even a slight shade of sorrow, shaking her head with disappointmen-You really can't even imagine it, can you? Oh, Devnet-Guinevere stepped closer and grabbed her wrists gently-Caillte Gaelach, he called you. Lost Moon. For you are pale and luminous, yet extravagated from your own people. You'll just let that be?-.

Devnet tried to swallow with difficulty, but her mouth was dry. She bit at her bottom lip until it split and bled trying to understand where Gwen was going by saying that. Perhaps, deep in her heart, she knew what her cousin meant, but to even materialize the idea into words would turn it too real, too...inevitable. And Devnet was at a point in her life where she wished to avoid her own reality, and longed for the peaceful ignorance of naivety. She wanted to live in the present, and not to think about tomorrow anymore. She backed away, freeing her wrists from Guinevere's hands.

-My people are the knights. They have been there for me. They have seen me grow. They know my tears, and cherish my laugh. They took me inside their circle when the picts did not, for they didn't see me as some soul caught in between two places, like your folk did-suddenly, all of her hidden resentment emerged from the shadows of her heart and into the open air, and it was like been liberated from a weight she hadn't even known she'd been carrying-My blood might be divided, but my loyalty is not-she stated fiercely.

Guinevere's eyes glimmered with scepticism and amusement, like a cat playing with her prey-Is that so?-she inquire in a quiet cold voice-Then tell me. When in times of need, in the dark of you room...to whom do you pray for solace and light? To your knights' gods? Or to our Mother Danu?-.

Devnet was brutally torn from her sleep by a harsh hand that grabbed her painfully by the neck of her cloak and yanked her backwards, dragging her through the snow and the dirt.

-What the-.

-Seize him!-Marius's voice lashed out across the morning air-And bring the girl to me-.

While furiously fighting to free herself from the man that was dragging towards the roman lord, Devnet saw to other members of his personal guard pull Dagonet away from his shelter and begin to punch him. The man, through at first, shaken, immediately began to fight back. The guards were taken by surprise at first, for they did not expect such resistance from a single man against the five of them; they had underestimated Dagonet's strength and skills. But their stupor did not last, and they fought to hold him down.

-NO!-cried the little boy Lucan at the same time, screaming in panic when seeing his protector been beaten. Suddenly, Marius covered the boy's mouth and began pulling him away as well. The unidentified guard momentarily lost his grasp on Devnet's cloak when the girl managed to bite him, but before she had the chance to escape, he grabbed her directly by the long waved of her hair without faltering and dragged even more violently across the dirt. Devnet screamed between tears of pain.

Agony. Panic. Shouts. Sobs. Shrieks. And above all, Honorius laughing triumphantly like the mad bastard dog he was. And then Dagonet managed to kick off the man that held her, and Devnet immediately rolled over and crawled away until she had enough space to stand.

-Dagonet!-she shrieked, seeing her friend outnumbered. Hot fury invaded her limbs. No one touched her men. She looked around desperately for a weapon, but before she could reach out for a simple kitchen knife forgotten beside an extinguished fire, Dagonet shook his head and shouted:

-NO! DEVNET! THEY'RE TOO STRONG FOR YOU!-he tossed violently between the arms of a soldier that had his arm around his neck-ARTHUR!-he managed to add in a choked voice-THE ME-.

Devnet understood what he said and sprang to a run like a deer, with no clear direction. She simply screamed for anyone that would hear.

-ARTHUR! ARTHUR! LANCELOT! WHERE ARE YOU!? THEY'RE ATACKING DAGONET! BORS! BORS! GALAHAD! WHERE ARE YOU!? HELP ME! HELP US! ARTORIUUUUS!-.

-All right! All right! Sssh-.

The woman didn't even repair in Lancelot rushing to meet her until he reached out to hold her face, trying to pull her off the panic seizure-Devnet look at me. Where? Where is Dagonet?!-.

-By the family's carriage. Honorius and his men fell over us while we slept. They've got the boy, and they're trying to kill Dag-she communicated desperately, already starting to run back to the spot.

-What's going on?-Arthur joined them with his sword drawn, followed by Guinevere, who carried a bow.

Lancelot looked at them-Dagonet's in trouble-.

-Where?!-.

Exasperated, Devnet turned and grabbed Arthur's free hand, dragging him behind her-Follow me! Quick!-she cried, wishing she'd had her own bow at hand during the attack now that she saw Guinevere's. They raced the way she'd come. Ahead of them, Devnet saw in horror how Honorius pushed his wife to the ground when she tried to free Lucan from his grasp, while Dagonet was cornered by his guards, with nothing but a short boot knife for a weapon.

-KILL HIM!-ordered Honorius, looking rabid. Without warning, Guinevere drew an arrow and shot him.

-Gladly-she muttered under her breath, starting to walk towards the scene while putting another arrow on the string. Honorius looked up with crystalized eyes, his mouth gaping idly at the woman in front of him. Mortally wounded, the roman lord stumbled backwards and then fell heavily like a sack of grain, dead. His guards backed away, swords lifted defensively, disorientated after their sire's sudden death. Gwen stopped a few steps away, pointing her bow at them. Lucan, sobbing in fright, rushed towards Dagonet, who received the trembling boy in his arms.

-DOWN!-he ordered the child before unsheathing his massive sword-YAAH!-.

Stepping out of her shaken state, Devnet leaned over to retrieve her own bow and arrows from her sleeping spot and went to stand beside her cousin. Honorius men stared with wide-eyed intimidation at both of Merlin's granddaughters, standing proud, beautiful and terrible in front of them, like angels of death. Arthur and Lancelot approached the girls from behind. A tense silence fell over the scene, the spectators holding their breath to see what happened next.

Finally, Lancelot stepped beside Guinevere, smirking crookedly with his twin blades crossed beside his neck-Your hand seems to be better-he observed, amused. Guinevere looked at him over the corner of her eyes and then shot the second arrow at the roman soldiers' feet. They stepped away, still grabbing their swords in a defensive position, with gritted teeth.

-ARTOOOOOOORIUUUUUS!-.

Bors arrived at a gallop to the scene, holding his mortal axe over his head. He stopped his black stallion in front of the guards and eyed them threateningly-Do we have a problem?-he inquired, intimidating them with his horse, making them back off-Huh!?-.

Arthur stepped forward and pointed at the cornered en with Excalibur. The blade glimmered dangerously in the morning glory, as did Arthur's cold, green eyes. A strange aura seemed to emanate from his body.

-You have a choice-he announced sternly-You help-he grimaced-Or you die-.

There was no cruelty in his voice, nor hesitation. He stood proudly, waiting for their answer. On his face, the roman soldiers saw that, though he felt no appreciation for them, if they choose to cooperate, he would, indeed, keep his word, for he was just. Besides...their only other option wasn't very appealing anyway. Especially not when Bors was still pushing his stallion against their back, his axe held high. Clenching his jaw, the captain of the guard dropped his sword in the snow, and turned to the rest of his men.

-Put down your weapons-.

The other looked at him doubtfully, not half as sensible as their leader. Seeing his authority questioned did not please the already quite humiliated man.

-DO IT NOW!-he ordered.

-YEAH!-chorused Dagonet, stepping towards them with his sword.

The soldiers finally surrendered and the camp echoed with the clang of their swords hitting the ground. Arthur lowered Excalibur and motioned to Jols, who had arrived along with Gawain, to pick up the swords. A hurried clatter of horse steps thundered their way before Tristan appeared through the trees, his hawk perched on his elbow.

-How many did you kill!?-asked Bors with a roguish grin on his face.

-Four-replied his fellow knight, with amusement playing in his voice.

Bors cackled a laugh-Not a bad start for the day!-.

Tristan pulled the reins of his mare in front of Arthur and dropped a heavy, black object at his feet. One of the Saxons' robust crossbows.

-Armour piercing-grimaced the scout, his eyes dark and grave-They're close. We have no time-.

Everyone understood that what he really meant was: _"We have no time to safe everyone"_. Arthur took in the foul news with graveness, his compassion battling with his common sense. In the end, as it had been expected, the moralist in him prevailed.

-You ride ahead-he ordered Tristan-See how much further until the lake-he turned to his other knights, who didn't bother to hide their resigned, yet annoyed expressions from their faces-The rest of you go and wake up the camp. We leave in an hour-he made a final nod before walking over to talk to the roman family. Both Lady Augusta and young Alecto still had their eyes stuck on their patriarch's dead body, with a mixture of horror and disbelief, and hidden beneath that, the certainty that justice had been made.

Tristan neared towards the rest of his brothers at arms before they scurried off to fulfil their commander's orders. Devnet saw how the sarmatians all exchanged sombre looks.

-We leave in an hour...-muttered Bors through gritted teeth.

-It won't be enough, will it, Tristan?-sighted Gawain, crooking and eyebrow at the scout.

The man shook his head-We're already and hour to late-he cursed before riding off. The others watched him go with heavy sights and shaking their brows in resignation before hurrying back to their chores. All they could do was trust that Arthur knew what he was doing, as they'd been doing so unconditionally for fifteen years. Devnet hoped that faith would not falter at their hour of most need.

Fortunately, the caravan was back on the road within the hour, and the course went faster now the ascent was over. They enfiladed along a narrow road between the forests. At that high, winter was in all of its cold, ghostly glory. Devnet kept her face hidden from the snow deep inside her cloak as she rode in front of the Honorius family carriage beside Lancelot. The wind placed snowflakes in her hair, and peeled off the skin in her knuckles. Suddenly, Arthur's voice floated towards her from behind, and when Devnet turned to look over her shoulder, she saw her friend talking to Alecto Honorius while he rode beside the vehicle.

-I'm sorry for your loss-he told the boy, his chest heavy with a sight of lament. Devnet couldn't help but smile faintly. Even though he had been responsible in a way for the Alecto's father's death; and that Marius had deserved his end after all the harm he'd done in life, Arthur still remembered that Alecto had lost his father, and no matter the number of sins the man had taken to the grave, a son would still grief in such a case. Maybe, there had been a time in which they had been a real family. And Arthur would not take that away from young Alecto.

-My father lost his way-replied the boy after a moment. His roman accent was very marked, as if, though knowing Briton, he'd rarely ever spoken it. His voice came out stiff and sad, though it sounded more like he pitied his father over the fact that he'd died-He used to say the church is there to help us stay on our path-Devnet looked over her shoulder again and saw Alecto resting his eyes upon the carriage inside which travelled Guinevere and Lucan-It didn't help those he made suffer-.

-The path he chose was beyond the reach of the church, Alecto-sighted Arthur.

-But not of Rome-explained the boy gravely-What my father believes so Rome believes-.

-What? That some men are born to be slaves?-Arthur shook his head-No, that isn't true-. Beside her, Devnet heard Lancelot snort with irony before shaking his head with and angry grin. She nudged him to be quiet. She wanted to keep listening.

-It is so-insisted Alecto-He told me so-. He lowered his piercing green eyes with sadness, staring at the marks the carriage wheels left in the snow.

-Pelagius, a man as close to me as any is there now, teaching all men are free-argued Arthur confidently-Equal-. His brow was deeply frowned with annoyance at the lies Marius had been feeding his son-That each of us has the right to choose his own destiny-he added solemnly, passion playing an important part in his little speech.

Alecto looked at him like if what he'd just heard the biggest drivel ever said- Teach?-he frowned-How? They killed Pelagius-.

At this, Devnet accidently gave a brusque yank at the rein, causing Cian to wince and snort in annoyance. Pelagius, dead? Lancelot looked at her quizzically, but Devnet had turned to look behind again. Arthur had gone pale and his frown had frozen over his face.

Alecto went on to explain-A year past. Germanous said the others were damned by his teachings. They had him excommunicated and killed-.

Devnet pressed her lips together. So that rat of a Roman bishop had had something to do with Pelagius's death. After meeting the man herself, it didn't surprise her at all. She'd noticed from a start that cruelty and avarice irradiated from that man, not sanctity. Arthur's church was corrupt then. Its leaders only wished to maintain their power and control over the romans. In Arthur's face, the young woman saw how everything he'd believed; everything he'd admired about the empire he served fell apart brick by brick, leaving nothing but uncertainty and desolation. She sighted imperceptibly. Deep inside, she'd always known that, though true in him, Arthur's ideals were based on a lie. Such philosophy could not co-exist with power. At least not in Rome.

-The Rome you talk of doesn't exist-informed Alecto, seriously-Except in your dreams-.

The carriage trailed on while Arthur lingered behind, horrified and cold. Devnet felt her heart break. She'd tried many times to make him see that what he believed him was in true, a mere utopia.

-Gods, I tried so hard to make him open his eyes, precisely to avoid this-she muttered to the air. Lancelot crooked and eyebrow.

-What was that about? Whose this Pelagius they spoke of?-.

Devnet sighted-You never got to meet him. He left the fortress the very same day you and the others arrived fifteen years ago. He was, you could say, a bit of a philosopher, and erudite, a teacher and a preacher. He came from Rome. After Uther Castus died, he took Arthur under his wing-she explained-Pelagius made Arthur everything he is now. It was from him that he learned of the values he follows. Respect, freedom, equality, justice...Pelagius always told him that all men should fight to make the world a better place, to help humanity grow. I don't doubt he was probably the most important figure in Arthur's life-she covered her mouth with her palm, shaking her head-Gods; I can't believe he's dead. Who could have done such thing?-.

-You were close to this roman preacher as well?-asked Lancelot with a bit of distaste in his words. Devnet shot him a proud, fierce glare.

-He was a good man, Lancelot-she assured coldly-The fact that he came from Rome had nothing to do with his character, for he was kind and just-a small smile played on her lips and she sighted, remembering with fondness-I was too young to understand his teachings like Arthur did, though I comprehend them now. But he was always so good to me. Made up games, gave me sweets. He was the one who taught how to read and write. I was quite the prodigy-she giggled before adding, once again melancholically-Trust me, you would've liked him-.

With a weight of her heart, she slowed down to ride side by side with the wagon.

-Excuse me. Alecto?-she asked, peeking through the window. Almost immediately the roman boy poked out his head.

-Yes?-his tone was polite, but his pale face was very faintly flushed. Devnet smiled on her insides despite all, feeling flattered. She'd seen does glances before.

-Hey, I don't think we've met yet. My name is Devnet; I come with the knights from the Wall-she introduced herself.

Alecto thought for a moment, frowning like he was trying to remember something, and then he nodded-Yes, I've heard about you. You're the lady knight. It is said you grew up fighting alongside with Arthur-he tilted his head, before adding, almost shyly, which looked strange on such a serious, proud young man-I suspected it was you, but I always imagined the lady knight to be more...masculine-.

Devnet made a little smile and shook her head-Trust me, I'd be one bloody useless mess of a man-she assured him-Listen-she added, more serious-I overheard you talking to Arthur before, about Pelagius-

. The boy's face grew sombre again, and he nodded stiffly-Was I wrong to tell Arthur about his death? I did not mean to upset him-he replied apologetically.

Devnet sighted-Don't worry, it's not like that. You see, Pelagius was like a father to Arthur. The news of his death has affected him a lot, that's all-she urged Cian closer and leaned towards the boy to talk more quietly-Do you know how he died?-.

-You knew Pelagius?-.

Devnet nodded-He was my teacher too-.

-I'm sorry for that-Alecto said with compassion He looked over his shoulder, checking his mother wasn't paying attention, and then turned back to Devnet-I heard he was stabbed to death, on his back; in an alley. It was said to be an accident; that he'd been victim of an assault, but my father told me that actually Germanous and his lot hired an assassin to have him killed. He was making people think for themselves, and independent people are hard to control-.

Devnet nodded gravely. So it had been just as she had suspected. Literal back-stabbing. Only Romans could kill in such shameful, dishonest manners. And all for the hunger of power. Pelagius couldn't have wanted to live in such world anyway. Perhaps, he would find his ideal society in the afterlife. She prayed that he did.

-Thank you, Alecto. And don't worry about Arthur. It's not you he's angry at-she offered him a slight touch on his forearm before returning to her original position besides Lancelot.

-I've got to talk to Arthur...Gods, all of this is just...-she trailed off and shook her head with a sad pout, pressing her fingers against her forehead-Germanous had Pelagius murdered-she explained when she saw the man's lost stare. Lancelot's eyes immediately darkened and he rolled them with hatred, but not with surprise. He knew how to recognize a man capable of killing with no hesitation. He was one of them. But he'd never killed without looking at his opponents eyes before ending their life.

-I've got to talk to Arthur-Devnet repeated anxiously after a minute of silence.

-No, let him be. I doubt he wants to talk to anyone-.

-That's not true-.

-He's like a brother to me. I know him-.

-Not like I do, Lancelot-replied Devnet-You've got no idea how much that man impacted in Arthur's life-she looked behind, trying to see her best friend, but she had no luck-Come with me-.

-Me? What manner of comfort could I offer him? I didn't even know the old man-.

Devnet rolled her eyes-Just like you said before; you're like a brother to Arthur. He needs both of us. Stop arguing and follow me-.

They found him nearly at the end of the line. Like a lone tree fighting against a storm, he sat on his mare with his head hanging low. Iustatia was merely following out of instinct. Part of Arthur wasn't there; part of him was broken and confused, and yet still he continued; defeated, but standing still. When he saw Devnet and Lancelot approaching him he even pulled up a quite convincing smile. But they both knew him too well to be fooled. But still, Devnet felt marvelled at the enduring courage and tenacity that the young roman officer managed to somehow keep together, even now. Wordlessly, she rode beside him and leaned over to kiss his cheek-Artorious-she said fondly, her voice soft and soothing.

The commander however, ignored her, staring gloomily at the void in front of him with no evidence that he'd even heard her at all. Devnet exchanged looks with Lancelot, who rode by Arthur's other side, and then lowered her gaze with sorrow. Perhaps the curly haired knights had been right, and they should have left their friend to mourn in solitude.

-All these years...looking up to a delusion. All this time...everything I've ever believed to be true and correct had turned out to be false. My own existence starts to seem like some sort of bad joke-.

-No, it's not like that, Arthur-she hurried to response-Listen, Pelagius death is horrible and it pains me as much as it hurts you but-

-We've been telling you for fifteen years that that Rome you speak of isn't real-finished Lancelot, thought that had not been what Devnet intended to say...well, not exactly in those words. She shot him a pointed look, wondering why on earth men always were so tactless.

-Yes...-she agreed through gritted teeth-Something like that...-the girl shook her head and rested her hand on Arthur's forearm-But that doesn't mean that you've been wrong about your beliefs for your whole life. Arthur, it's time you stop dreaming with a city that's a thousand miles and more away from here, and that you'll never change anyway. Look closer to home. All this years, you've been building a better world right here under your nose-.

-What does it matter? It is in Rome that I intended to settle myself. Not here. When I leave this place, all my deeds leave with me-his eyes searched the mountain rage for answers he would never find-I've done nothing but fool myself, believing in a better world. A better Rome. And it turns out that that same Rome is corrupted, as are the men who hold its power-.

_ Then why leave?_ Devnet bit her tongue to stop the question from escaping her lips.

-Arthur, your Master's death was not your fault-complained Lancelot.

-Yet I admired the hand that had him killed-replied the roman shortly-That same hand that holds your freedom as a hostage-a momentary glimmer of rage crossed his otherwise dead green eyes-And here I am, obeying his orders. Following ideals that will never truly serve-.

-That damned bastard of a bishop has nothing to do with you-spat Lancelot-Arthur, who you are, what you believe in, even if I don't completely agree with it, is what makes you a man worth following-.

-Look before you!-Devnet exclaimed, pointing at the caravan-All this people would've been lost without you. They'd be dead by now, if you hadn't refused to leave them-.

-A fool's decision. That's what you think, after all. You and the rest of the men-he said, referring to Lancelot. His second in command rolled his eyes and looked away. Clearly, he couldn't deny that.

-Arthur, some men are born to be different. To think different. To believe different-Devnet turned to look him in the eye, not with sympathy anymore, but strangely solemn. Something about what Lancelot had said, about Arthur being a man worth following, made her remember the commander's encounter with Merlin the night before. The woads believed Arthur could lead them against the Saxon, despite being a Christian and a roman. But there was something in Arthur that made him stand above other men-Your decisions and your acts aren't stupid at all-.

Arthur didn't replay, but Devnet hoped that the frown in his face meant that he was pondering on her words. She bit her bottom lip, casting an apprehensive glance at Lancelot, who exhaled deeply and shuddered. Finally, their friend released another sight tinted with uncertainty and said-Everything contradicts itself these days. Yesterday I refused to abandon a single soul to the slaughter. Today, I've approved the murder of a roman lord, leaving a young boy an orphan and his mother a widow, and still I don't regret it-he paused before asking-Do you think I should've stopped Guinevere before she shot Marius?-he sounded almost like a child trying to comprehend his acts, begging for someone, anyone, to explain him this strange order that had come apparently out of nowhere to rule de world. Something inside Devnet's chest hardened when she recalled the series of moments lived with Marius Honorius. His slap on her face. His guards dragging her by the hair. His dagger threatening Lucan's life.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. -On the contrary, Artorious-her voice came out cold and stiff-You did more than we would've done in your place-.

The roman turned to look at her, an eyebrow crooked, asking what she meant. But Lancelot replied instead, his tone even more ruthless than the girl's-We would've killed Honorius and all his guards-.

Arthur turned his head sharply to look at him with a mixture of anger and surprised. Lancelot held his black gaze proudly, before shuddering and riding away, feeling slightly annoyed. Devnet sighted.

-Pay him no mind. You know he's volatile-she told her friend. When he didn't replay, she nudged him hard, frustrated-Hey, listen to me...Listen-she pulled his horse's reins as well as her own, forcing him to look at her-What you did this morning, forgiving those men's life...and back at the state, saving the villagers...Pelagius would've been proud-she told him firmly, lacing her skinny fingers with his and squeezing his palm fiercely-It was fair, Arthur. You've always been just, and that makes you wise. Not a fool, you hear me? It lifts you above the rest of us, why else do you think even the woads would be willing to follow you into battle?-.

Her words were only met by silence, but light had returned to her friend's green eyes. It was cold and distant, like the greying morning, but it wasn't dead anymore. Suddenly, she shuddered, like if she'd seen something inside that look. Something magnificent. It was at that moment that she was absolutely sure that Arthur was destined to do something great. She couldn't explain her certainty, but it was there, as clear and eminent as the arrival of spring after winter, or the thunder after the lightning. There was power in that look.

-You've become a leader Arthur. And by that I don't mean that you're a great commander or strategist, because you've always been there. You've become a leader of hope-in and impulse, she lifted his hands and kissed his knuckles solemnly-For it falls to leaders to think beyond what others think, to believe beyond what others believe. Leaders, Arthur, need to believe in a better world in order to build their own-.

There was an intense exchange of strange looks, as if the world had been waiting eons for those words to be spoken; as if , like the sister Arthur never had, had been destined to discover...

The spell, if it could be called that way, was abruptly brokenwhen Lancelot galloped back towards them, although no longer angry. Instead he looked rather serious.

-You've better come to the front of the line. We've reached the Lake of Sorrows-.


	19. XV) The Lake of Sorrows

**I know it took me longer than promised. The truth is that from now on I believe the updates will have to be every two weeks, because it I need more time, and it is not fair for you to be waiting with false expectations. I ask you not to be ghost readers because I really value your votes and I'm very interested in your opinions and comments on the story. They make me very happy. Ghosts are very frustrating readers: / I adore you darlings. Thans for still hanging around upt to this point :3 **

The lake of Sorrows owed its name to the long silvery trails of melted snow that ran down the mountain flanks in spring, into the lake below, like tears. The legend spoke of a young maid from Pictland, whose lover had died in an ambush while they'd been crossing the valley, fleeing from those who opposed their love. Heart-broken, she spent her days sitting by the body, singing mournfully for her lost love, until her soul died away too. The mountains, moved by her sadness and her song, mourned her death as well, crying rivulets of melted snow that began pooling in the gorge, covering the star-crossed lovers in a mantle of silver water, until the lake was formed, because the mountains cried so much. Because of that, the woads knew that place as Loch Deirdre, named after the young maiden who had broken the mountains' hearts.

Of lake it had little more than the name, for it was narrow and barely a mile or so long. But then, so was the valley. There was barely space for a small road that ran between the shore and the mountain flank, but, just as Devnet had predicted, the way was absolutely blocked by snow. In order to cross the valley; and they had choice option but to do so, they would have to walk over the treacherous ice. Arthur, Devnet and the knights gathered at the head of the caravan, looking over at the smooth white surface that extended before them, concealing its danger beneath a cape of snow.

-The ice is thicker than I thought-informed Tristan-At least near the shore. Further forward, however, it's hard to tell-.

Devnet dismounted and dares to kneel by the border of the ice, where she could see Tristan's footprints. She studied the surface.

-It's still not safe enough for the horses and the wagons. We'll need to spread the weight if we want to stand a chance across it-she said, looking at Arthur over her shoulder-And with all this fallen snow...it'll be hard to repair on black ice until it might be too late-.

Arthur studied the cold white landscape, his lips pressed together. He knew that crossing the ice could turn out to be just as fatal as facing the Saxons. He turned to Tristan-Is there any other way?-.

-No-grunted the scout, taciturn-We have to cross the ice-.

A cold gush of wind swept against their faces, carrying the angry whispers of winter.

-It's the only path across the mountain rage. The other pass is days of travel to the South, we'd never make it-sighted Devnet-As much as I hate it, we'll have to cross the ice we don't have another option-.

Arthur nodded-Get them all out of the carriages-he told Jols-Tell them to spread out-. The groom nodded stiffly and rode back to carry his commander's orders.

-It's better if we dismount as well-suggested Devnet, standing up and grabbing Cian's reins-A horse with a rider make a lot of pressure against the ice-.

One by one, the knights dismounted with the fierce gracefulness of those who'd spent a lifetime on horseback, and led their horses. The committee spread out across the surface of the frozen lake, to equilibrate the weight as much as possible. They advanced slowly, step after step and dragging their feet along the slippery surface in search of possible sheets of black ice hidden beneath the snow. There was no sound but the wind, there was no cold for everyone was concentrating on just taking another step and hoping it was the right one. They held their breath every time the ice groaned beneath them.

_"It won't hold and less we move as slow as daylight"_ Devnet realized in horror _"But at this rate, the Saxons will catch us long before we get a glimpse of the Wall."_

Suddenly, a tremendous sound, a groan like the clash between the very earth and the skies, shook the ice beneath them. The surface grunted and cracked. Devnet saw a few chunks of white floating beneath the frozen surface. The horses whined in terror. Arthur lifted his hand in the air and immediately everyone froze in their spots. Devnet closed her eyes, out of breath, trembling against her horse's flank, and prayed for the terrible groans to end.

_Mother Danu, save us. _

And then, a different sound. Steady, dull...so close it sent shivers down her spine. Drums. The Saxons. Everyone turned to look back the way they'd come, expecting to see the enemy lines round the corner any minute now. It was only a matter of time, and they knew it. There was no way around it. After a last groaningly step on the ice, Arthur shrugged and slowly, turned to face his men with cold pride.

-Knights?-he asked simply.

The sarmatian's exchanged looks with each other, and the roguish, cold-hearted smiles of the warriors they were crept over their faces. Some were almost content, others resigned, but they all agreed on one thing.

-Well, I'm tired of running-Bors nodded finally-And this Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting-he added humorously.

-Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway-shrugged Tristan, his face serious as he looked at his other companions.

Gawain grunted-It'd be a pleasure to put an end to this racket-he mumbled-Another hour, and I'll start hearing drums even in my sleep-.

-And finally get a look at the bastards-finished Galahad with a clenched jaw.

Dagonet stepped forward with his horse, smiling broadly-Here-he boomed-Now-.

As for Lancelot, he simply shook his head as if saying _"We must do what we must"._

Then they all looked at Devnet with mild expressions, half hoping she would not insisting on staying with them, half expecting her to do so. Devnet stared at the ice beneath her boots for a moment and then smiled faintly at it's time to make them run away from us-she stated with confidence. Through the wind, she saw how her beloved men smiled despite themselves. They loved her spirit, or else she wouldn't have been herself at all.

Arthur held back what might have been a smile under absolutely different circumstances and looked beyond the circle of knights, calling for Jols. Devnet and the knights turned and began taking their weapons from their saddles. Devnet had her bow and her quiver at her back, and a few daggers in her belt. She needed no more. The others took swords, axes, bows and knives, checking their sharpness and their point. Jols and two other men came and took their horses reins. Devnet hugged Cian's massive head and placed a delicate kiss between his clear dark eyes.

-Gahnis-Arthur approached the skinny villager that had entered his service and placed a hand over his shoulder-I need you to lead the people. The main Saxons army is inland so if you track the coastline until you're well south of the Wall you'll be safe-.

Gahnis looked around, his face astonished-But your eight against to hundred!-he exclaimed-.

-Nine-.

Surprised, everyone turned to look at Guinevere, who had descended from the carriage and was walking confidently towards them-You could use another bow-she added, standing alongside Devnet. The girls exchanged twisted smirks.

-She'd good-acknowledged Dev, smiling-You've all seen it. If I'm staying, she might as well do so too-.

Gahnis sighted-I'd rather stay and fight-he pledged wishfully. By his face, Devnet guessed the idea of two women staying to face the Saxons and not him could suppose a slight stab at his pride. _Men_.

Arthur's gaze was lost in the icy distance, his features set hard-You'll get your chance soon enough-he grimaced in a low tone, before turning to look at Honorius's guards and lifting his voice-This man is now your captain. You do what he says. Am I understood?-.

-Yes, sire-both soldiers nodded, slightly intimidated by the authority in the centurion's countenance. Devnet breathed the cold air in. There he was again, the man that ordered and the other obeyed without hesitation or protest; like a king without a crown. Once more Devnet had the strange premonition that fate was aligning itself right above Arthur's head.

The commander sighted deeply, and nodded to the caravan-Go-he ordered-Go!-.

Alecto Honorius stepped in front of Arthur, holding his head high and his back straight and stiff like a broomstick. -I'm able-he affirmed proudly, his hands clutched into fists at his side-I can fight-.

Arthur immediately refused the idea-No, you must bear witness to what you have seen-he rested a hand on his face and stared at him straight in the eye, with a determinate frown-There's one thing you must do and that's get back to Rome-he slapped his shoulder encouragingly and urged him back towards the caravan line . At Gahnis's words, the caravan returned slowly back to motion, their faces pale and grim, cheekbones peeled off by the wind, watching the nine figured that stayed

behind to guard their escape. There was resignation and thankfulness written in their features, but most of all fear. Yet some smiled to look strong. Devnet saw how young Lucan, sitting by the side of the Lady Augusta in the carriage waved his hand shyly at Dagonet, eyes slightly apprehensive. It was clear to all of them that he had become attached to his saviour during the journey, worshiping him almost like a father. The giant warrior offered him a comforting smile and raised his palm in return.

As the caravan disappeared into the distance, Devnet and the others gathered in a line at the heart of the ice field, a pile of arrows left at each pair of feet by Jols. The cold mountain breeze blew their cloaks and hair behind, bringing faint crumbles of snow to land upon their lashes. Vapour sprouted from their mouth every time they breathed anxiously, waiting for the enemy with impatience. The drums sounded closer and closer yet. Devnet's body was tense and slightly shaky with adrenaline at the upcoming battle. She knew, just like the rest, that the odds were far against them. Perhaps she'd end up dying in that narrow, forgotten valley of the northern mountains. Her place was between Lancelot and Guinevere. She couldn't help but laugh at the adequate appearance of that positioning. Humour, as usual, was an ironic, unconventional weapon against the eminent terror of battle. Her eyes were fixed on the icy blue landscape before her, expect for one instant that she tilted her sight to her right, holding Lancelot's gaze before nodding slightly at him. He nodded as well in return, trying to assure her everything would turn out in their favour in the end. They both knew those were only empty hopes.

The drums were upon them. Like a long black serpent, the Saxons army rounded the corner of the valley, their feet making a hollow sound, like thunder, over the ice. Devnet felt her eyes widened at the sight of them. They were less than she'd expected. A single battalion of around a dozen lines of six or seven men, standing elbow to elbow. They carried a lonely black banner that trembled sombrely in the wind. The group was preceded by three warriors, thick of frame and, from what she could tell even at that distance, carrying impressively large swords. The nine gathered against the Saxons took a collective deep breathe. Now there was no chance of running.

-Hold until I give the command-said Arthur, breaking the tense silence weighing between his men. Devnet and Guinevere exchanged glances, both shrugging at the sight of the Saxons.

-You look frightened-smirked Lancelot to Gwen, from Devnet's other side. He looked at the two women out of the corner of his eye and nodded towards the army-There's a large number of lonely men out there-he added mockingly.

Devnet made a short gasp of indignation, but before she had a chance to scold him, Guinevere crooked an eyebrow and huffed, seemingly unimpressed-Don't worry-she said in a low, indifferent tone; looking away-I won't let them rape you-.

Devnet grinned with a low giggle-Smooth-she congratulated her cousin. Most women didn't know how to handle that sort of comments on Lancelot's behalf.

The woad girl smirked amusingly-Thanks, cous-.

Out of the corner of her eye, Devnet could see the black haired man holding back a smile too.

The Saxon army stopped at the edge of the frozen lake. They gathered in a new formation, two lines of twenty or so; with their leaders at the front. No one made a single move for the moment, as both sides studied their opponent. In a direct confrontation, Devnet was well aware they would never stand a chance against such number of Saxons. Their only hope was to shoot as many as they could, so that by the time those bloody bastards reached them, their numbers had dropped.

Finally, the man that seemed to be in charge of the whole regiment made a few steps forward.

-Archer!-he cried, looking over at his men. Immediately, a second man stepped forward, lifted a bow and after a moment, released an arrow. Without blinking, Devnet and her lot watched the thin black line soar the air idly, only to hit the ice without even piercing, slid a few paces across the surfaces and stop, not even halfway from them.

_Impressive_ Devnet thought ironically.

-I believe they're waiting for an invitation-Arthur commented casually. The commander looked at either side of him-Bors, Tristan, Dev-.

-They're far out of range-argued Guinevere with a frown. Arthur stared at her with disdain. She had no idea of what they were capable of.

Devnet smirked cockily and stepped forward, pulling the arrow to her cheekbone-How little faith you have me, cous-.

At the same time, Bors joined her with his massive long-bow, and Tristan put two arrows on his own. The three of them exchanged glances, nodded and loosened the sting at the same time. The four arrows traced and elegant arc through the clouds, cutting the air with a hollow hiss. With precision, they each found a Saxon target to sink into when the barbarians, in their confidence, failed to back off. The victims' bodies fell heads-first in the ice.

Devnet released the air she'd been holding and smiled self-sufficiently-That was so easy it hardly seemed fair-she commented with humour. Arthur crooked an eyebrow at Guinevere with amusement _You were saying?_ he seemed to be mocking her.

Suddenly, from the enemy lines, came the hair-prickling shriek of metal been drawn. One of the Saxon leaders gave a guttural shout of command, and like a sole being, the army began advancing across the ice. The surface groaned beneath their weight Pressing her lips together, Devnet returned to the formation, and all of them waited for Arthur's orders, staring at him with absolute trust. The commander nodded and everyone lifted their bows, pulling the strings back to their faces.

-Aim for the wings of the ranks-ordered Arthur over the thundering of the ice-Make them cluster-.

They released their arrows against the Saxons. Several bodies fell to the side in the snow, leaving small dark stains of blood, but the arm kept advancing without much hesitation. The men at the flanks, however, winced and trotted closer to the mass. The ice groaned restlessly. They drew a second set of arrows, and a third short after. The Saxons kept clustering tighter and tighter together, and Devnet could feel the trembling of the ice even from where she was standing, right beneath the soles of her feet.

-Hold the ranks!-shouted one Saxon finally, and others chorused his orders along the battalion. It looked like they had finally realized what strategy was using Arthur, making them pile to concentrate their weight against the ice. The Saxon leaders struggled to prevent their formation from breaking, forcing their soldiers to spread, the arrows that rained constantly over them kept pushing them closer and closer against each other. They were close enough now that Devnet could hear them clearly.

-HOLD THE RANKS! OR I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!-shouted one of the men at the head of the column.

Arthur knelt to feel the cracks formed in the ice and frowned-It's not gonna break!-he exclaimed, thinking past-Back! Fall back!-he straightened up and drew Excalibur out of her sheath-PREPARE FOR COMBAT!-.

The men dropped their bows, replacing them with swords, shields and axes, save for Tristan, who kept his bow like Devnet Guinevere. Everybody became even more tense and alert. There was a mute ringing in Devnet's ears, the field of her vision darkened until all she could focus was on the Saxons army advancing towards her. She felt the soft caressed of the feathers in her arrow upon her cheek, and prepared to shoot again.

Her concentration was shattered when Dagonet dropped his sword abruptly, and retrieved his massive axe from the ground.

-YAAAAAAAH!-he lunched forward before anyone could stop him, as they were still frozen by surprise. Bors called alarmed after his friend. Devnet emitted a strangled sound between a shriek and a cry.

-Cover him!-ordered Arthur.

They occupied their former positions and began shooting the Saxons again in an attempt to protect Dagonet. Meanwhile, the giant man stopped a few meter away from the Saxons line and with a brutal swing, sank his axe into the ice. The Saxon commander, seeing the knight was finally within their range, ordered his archers forward, and several men knelt and pointed at Saxons with those hellish black crossbows of theirs. Devnet and the knights shot many of them before they had the chance to aim, but others came to take their place. Dagonet was raining his axe again and again over the ice, making several chunks and spike sprout in the air, but still the surface resisted.

-Bloody hell, just when we need it to break it decides to hold-cursed Devnet, and in her desperation, missed a target-_Fuck-_.

Suddenly, a monstrous roar echoed against the rock walls of the belly, and the ice shook beneath their feet like a massive creature stirring from its sleep. Dagonet had finally managed to crack the ice, but he still needed a couple more blows to break it completely and sink the Saxon.

-THE ICE IS BREAKING!-.

-KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!-the Saxon leader was crying with desperation.

Devnet kept shooting furiously, arrow after arrow. She was barely paying attention to a specific target anymore. All she could think of was giving Dagonet more time, just a few more seconds...

Suddenly, the giant knight stumbled backwards and fell on his side with a cry. A crossbow had finally managed to reach him.

-DAG!-cried Bors. Arthur rushed forward, while the others continued shooting the Saxons furiously. Devnet's mind was on cold white fire, stricken by panic and fury. Her fingers were numb and obeyed her by mere instinct, shooting with the deadly precision Tristan has taught her. She clenched her jaw in order to keep herself from crying in anguish when she saw how Dagonet wounded and on his knees, managed to continue with his work on the ice. Her heart had gone wild and desperate at the idea of losing him.

With and agonizing cry, Dagonet sank the axe up to the handle, and a crack as thick as a man's made its way through the ice towards the Saxon, and the surface began to tear apart. The single crack widened and turned into many, and everywhere the Saxons were sinking, as the chunks of ice broke away and turned around. The air got filled with cries of panic, as the saxons stumbled and fell to freezing depths below, sinking by the weight of their armour.

-BAAACK! BACK!-.

Those who were fast enough hurried to obey their leader's orders, stumbling the way they'd come and as far as they could from the open space of water, trying to escape the cracks that opened beneath their feet. With cold-hearted horror, Devnet watched helplessly how Dagonet sank in the water as well. A late scream escaped her throat and she would've stumbled forward hadn't it been because she still had to cover Arthur from the remaining Saxons. Gliding on his knees across the ice, Arthur arrived at the edge of the pool and nearly fell in himself. His hands darted inside the water and with effort; he began pulling Dagonet from its depths, struggling with his gigantic wet weight. With an animal-like cry, Bors picked up his round shield and joined Arthur, holding over their head to protect the three of them from the crossbows. More cracks appeared over the ice, bigger than before, and this time breaking in their direction, forcing Devnet and the rest of the knights to back away.

Lancelot's eyes widened at the breaking eyes, horror struck-PULL BACK!-he shouted over to Arthur and Bors, who, laboriously, hurried to retry dragging Dagonet's frame with them. Despite the cracks rushing to meet them, they kept on shooting the enemy, who was still trying to kill Arthur and Bors despite the danger. The world dissolved into nothing but that massive chaos of the ice breaking, the arrows soaring the air from one side to the other, the cries of the men that tried in vain to cling to the chunks of ice, sliding towards the water leaving nothing but a bloody trail behind them. It was like Hell, only in winter.

-HELPS US!-cried Bors. He and Arthur were practically crawling over the ice with Dagonet in their arms. Gawain and Tristan stepped forward to help them. The rest were still with their bows. Arrows were running out, as was their strength. The air was alive with cries of war and pain, and above all, the terrifying roar of the ice.

The others finally arrived at their fit. Bors leaned over Dagonet, crying in absolute despair: -DAGONET! STAY WITH ME-.

-NO!-cried Devnet, falling on her knees beside him, looking at the wounds. Dagonet had taught her the healing arts, she had to save him she had to, but there was blood everywhere and three arrows lodged in his body, and a red trail dripping from his parted lips and his eyes were crystalizing...

-DAGONET! STAY WITH ME!-.

With a shuddering tremor, that silent man, the gentle knight, the peaceful, just kind Dagonet that had carried Devnet to bed when she fell asleep on the table as a child, who endured Bors outburst and was the only one that knew how to handle them, whom the little bastards adored, whom everyone knew to be perhaps the most noble of them all, exhaled his last breath.

-No! NOOO! NO!-she sobbed uncontrollably, she shrieked until her throat when soar. She had to safe him, she just had to. He couldn't have died, not him, not Dag.

-DAGONET! DAGONET!-Bors was crying like a beast, for he had lost more than a brother. Someone pulled Devnet away from the body and contained her. By the braids she knew it was Gawain. She sank inside her best friend's hug and hid her face on his shoulder while he patted her back.

-Nooo! No!-she sobbed-Not again. Not Dag...-.

A heavy silence followed. There was nowhere to go, nothing more to think, no end to that agony, both physical and emotional. No words or thoughts for the unspeakable and unimaginable. For the loss of one of their own. One more. Bors low cries echoed through the mountains. There was nothing but cold, and death.

** I don't know how I managed no to cry while I wrote this. Don't know if that's good or bad :(. Out of all of the characters, he was the last one to deserve this *stares into the void because she doesn't know how to handle a character's death ***


	20. XVI) The Price of Freedom

**Hello, hello my dears! I hope you like this chapter, as always I look foward for your votes and comments. You know I appreciate them very much 3 #Don'tBeThatAnnoyingGhostReader**

**A special greeting to all the lovely new readers in this story that means so much to me...adorable little bundles of fur.**

**I also wanted to take the chance to refer to some flaws in my writting style after reading a very helpful review that helped me repair on some mistakeS I was unaware of:**

**First of all, you should no that english isn't my mother tongue, Im a spanish native speaker. In spanish I think we have a different way to estetically present a story. For instance, we put dialogues between - -. instead of " "; so I wanted to apologize if that got someone confused. Unless it bothers you too much, however, I prefer not to change that because it confuses me at the moment of writing, so to leave things clear:**

**-Hello. How are you?-. - DIALOGUE.**

**"Hello. How are you" - CHARACTER'S THOUGHT.**

**Hope that clears things out.**

**Secondly, and for the same reason of English being not my mother tongue, sometimes I might use words that in Spanish mean one thing, but in English mean something totally different, changing the sense of the sentence. Again, Im sorry for that, and I promise to pay more atention to such details. **

**Finally...Sorry for the spelling mistakes...that's got no other explenation besides really fast typing habits and a distracted mind. I'll try to stay more focused.**

They reached the main caravan short after escaping the Lake of Sorrows, carrying Dagonet's cold dead body. Now the long line of inhabitants from the former roman state crossed to the safety that lay south of the Wall with weary feet, preceded by Arthur and his knights who were looking sour and dark, hollow eyed. Right behind them, Devnet simply allowed Cian to make the way back to his stables on his own, staring with emptiness into the void between the horses' ears. The heavy iron doors that guarded that corner of the Roman Empire closed with a forbidding, doom-like clang at their backs; therefore shutting away the dangerous, wild world of freedom that lay beyond.

Their homecoming was not glorious, nor joyful. Not a single ray of light shone in their faces. Not even when, one by one, the knights entered their main courtyard and found Bishop Germanous waiting for them, surrounded by his servants, and holding the heavy wooden box that contained their discharge paper. Liberty at last. But at what cost? One more life had to be taken, another blood claim from Rome. By that point, freedom was starting to seem overrated and distant. Mourning their fallen brother-at-arms, on the other side, was very real. When the wagon of the Honorius family entered the courtyard, escorted by roman soldiers at both side, the bishops hard features grinned exaggeratedly and he rushed forward with his hands extended to the heavens.

-Christ be praised!-he exclaimed cheerfully-Against all the odds!-. When Alecto jumped to the ground, the bishop extended his hands towards him fervently-Alecto! Let me see you!-he lifted his eyes to the sky and exclaimed-WE HAVE TRIUMPHED!-.

Devnet froze on the spot and took a step towards the man-_We_ have triumph? What has _he_ done?! Bloody bastard...-.

To her surprise, it was Galahad who held her arm back, shaking his head-Don't-he warned her softly.

Devnet stared at him in awe-Dagonet died to fulfil this mission and that roman son of a bitch is taking all the credit!-she spat through clenched teeth, eyes widened with rage-You'll just stand and watch him seize the honour of Dag's sacrifice? Of _our_ sacrifice?-.

-Bloody hell, woman, shut your mouth-snarled Tristan from his horse, his tone so harsh it made the girl recoil as if she'd been lashed with a whip.

-We've had enough of the romans,_ petite_-Lancelot stepped forward, rounding her shoulders with an arm protectively, and fulminating Tristan with a nasty stare-There's no need to be that rough, though. Damn it, Tristan, we're all beaten up. It doesn't mean you get to speak to any of us like that. I've had it with your rabid humour-he scolded, demonstrating why he was Arthur's second-in-command after all. The scout spat to the ground, but his eyes softened slightly and he grunted and apology to Devnet.

-_LUCAN_!-.

Suddenly, the little boy ran into the courtyard, chased by Guinevere. A roman centurion tried to stop him, but before he could take a step after the boy, Galahad drew his sword with a single swift move and pointed at the man's throat. The loath in his eyes made it quite clear that if the centurion attempted to harm the boy again, he would butcher him without a moment's thought. Nobody else moved to keep the boy away from the horse that carried Dagonet's body, covered with a cloak. Lucan's steps died beside the animal at the sight of Dag's massive deedless hand hanging outside the cloak. The boy had already been told about the knight's death, and he carried the silvery trail of tears glistering on the purple shadows beneath his eyes. Nobody dared to speak, holding their breath in pity at the sight of the boy, who simply continued to stare at the concealed body of his protector, as if he could not quite understand what it meant. Behind him, Guinevere place a hand comfortingly over his small shoulder, lowering her dark eyes with sadness.

Still looking lost, Lucan suddenly extended his hand to embrace Dagonet's thick grey fingers with it, and slipped of the thick iron ring that adorned his knuckle. He turned it in his palm, holding it with a sort of reverence; before closing his fist and pressing it tightly against his chest, daring anyone with his sad young eyes to take it away from him.

No one could have had the nerve to do so.

The grave mourning silence was suddenly disturbed by Germanous dry laugh, as he lifted his hands as if hugging the air and smiled broadly at the knights-Ah! Our great knights! You're free now! Give me the papers!-he motioned for one of his personal and the man stepped forward and bowed his head, offering the bishop a small wooden box.

-Come, come now-Germanous continued, making the officer open the box and display its contents inside, like a merchant selling goods.-Your papers of safe-conduct throughout the Roman Empire-.

The knights stared mutedly at the six roles of white parchment. A wave of cold black anger rose from their breaths, and Devnet could've sworn she'd heard one or two growl like furious beasts. She couldn't blame them. Those pristine papers were stained with Dagonet's blood, and so many others'. And now they were been offered to them like treats for the dogs.

When noticing that no one made an attempt to step forward and claim he's freedom, Bishop Germanus's smile melted away and he paled, his voice quivering slightly-Take them!-he insisted, still trying to show a friendliness he didn't own. Arthur then walked towards him, piercing the man with grey-green eyes.

-Arthur!-the bishop's face froze when he repaired on Arthur's cold face charged with contempt. The roman actually appeared to fear the knights'' commander.

-Bishop Germanous-Arthur said slowly, every word as heavy as a stone. He shook his head, looking down at the other man-_Friend_ of my father-he added, sounding almoust disgusted. The bishop's eyes widened and he clenched his jaw, watching the young commander walk away from the courtyard without looking back.

Finally, Lancelot yanked the safe-conduct papers from the box held by the roman guard, and began handing each one to a knight without ceremony while the bishop went on and on about how they were free now. Of for the love of all the Gods, do you expect them to thank you? Devnet had to bite her own tongue to keep the words from escaping her lips. She prayed that the man would just shut up for good. The knights accepted their safe-conduct in collective silence, until only three remained in his grasp; his own, Bors's...and Dagonet's. Lancelot stood in front of Bors and held the roll of parchment to his face.

-Bors-he said gravely, but it took another sharp call before the burly knight turned to look at him. His eyes were glistering with tears.

-For Dagonet-Lancelot told him with a tight voice, holding the parchment out to him along with his own.

Slowly, the man took both papers, crashing them with his fist-This doesn't make him a free man-he replied in a hoarse voice, like a lump inside his throat-He's already a free man-he looked at the bishop with pure hatred and tossed the rolls to the dirt at the man's feet-He's dead!-.

Feeling her eyes watering again, Devnet turned her back towards the scene and walked away too, dragging Cian by the reins. She was disgusted by the bishop's presence, shocked and moved to tears by little Lucan in front of Dagonet's body, and haunted by the giant's ghost.

While she unsaddled Cian in the stables in silence her hands started shaking, and we she lifted them to her face, she realized that her palms were covered in Dagonet's dry blood from when she had tried to stop the bleeding in vain; and the knight had died right in front of her. Horrified, a lump formed in her throat and she let out a small, strangled sob. She felt disgusted at herself; despicable and covered in filth. With and anguish cry, she dropped the saddle to ground and tried to ran away from her own self, but Lancelot; who had been there as well along with Tristan and Jols, darted forward and caught her.

-Let me go!-she shrieked yanking away hysterically-Don't touch me! Let me go!-she extended her bloody palms at him-He's dead, Gods. He's dead and I couldn't safe him!-.

-Devnet-the man replied in a sad-sweet voice-Devnet, it's not your fault-.

Devnet shook her head, feeling overwhelmed. All she could think of was washing away the blood in her hands. Even if it felt like it would stick to her skin forever.

-Leave me alone!-she screamed, before dodging pass him and the others and darting out of the place.

Beneath the candlelight, Devnet leaned over and began sewing the wounds left by the cross-bows on Dagonet's body. Inside the little dark room, she, Vanora and a couple of other women fussed around preparing the body for his burial. While she stitched up the wounds, Van washed the trail of blood in Dagonet's mouth with a humid cloth. For the tenth time, Devnet's sight blurred by the tears and she wiped them away in silence to continue her needle work with concentrated dedication. After she'd patched up the three wounds, she cleaned off the rest of the blood in the man's chest with perfumed water, eyes lost in the map of scars carved across his body. She stopped and simply contemplated Dagonet's face, now clean and shaved; its paleness reflecting the candlelight.

-He seems so at peace-she managed to whisper with a melancholical tenderness.

Vanora followed the girl's gaze and smiled sadly, placing a hand over Dagonet's brow-He does, doesn't he?-she replied softly.

Devnet shook her head, reaching over the touch the still, scarred face-If it wasn't for his paleness, it looks like he's only sleeping. Like he'll yawn and open his eyes at any moment-she traced her knuckled over the man's cheek-Brave Dag...dear Dag-.

One of the other women brought clean clothes, and they began to solemnly remove the battle-stained garments from the warrior's body. Devnet struggled with the dead weight of the man's massive torso, and with Prya and Vanora's help, she finally managed to slip the shirt on. Gently, she laid the man back on the table and began lacing it up to his collarbone, hiding the stitched up wounds. The women carried on with their task of preparing the body for burial, as was the ancient tradition in the land. They stuffed aromatic herbs inside the pockets and the boots to clear away the gloomy smell of death, they cleaned away every pebble of dust from the clothes, and most important of all, they provided the tokens he was to take with him to the Other Life. All done either in silence of small whispers, inside a dark room where no men were allowed before the body was ready; and under the heavy smell of melting candle wax and perfumed water. After nearly an hour of silent mourning and preparation inside that intimate little room, Vanora finally opened the door to announce the body was ready to be carried away.

The small committee started off towards the cemetery in a silent, solemn line, formed by those who had loved the great gentle knights. Opening the march came the oldest and most respected town bard, accompanied by his faithful lute, marking their rhythm with a funerary ballad. Right behind him, Bors and Arthur were carrying a humble litter with the body at the head of the line, supporting the weight of the bars on their shoulders solemnly. They were escorted by the other knights, who had already bathed and changed their clothing for the occasion. Then came Guinevere, holding Lucan's hand, and then Vanora and Devnet, controlling the flock of Bor's children. For once, all eleven little bastards were as quiet as mice, their heads hanging low and their hands laced together in front of them, dragging their little feet across the ground. Devnet had Nine attached to one hip, and little ten to the other. Behind them; all the others who had come to appreciate Dagonet in one way or another.

The cemetery laid beyond the fields of Badon Fields, almost at the forest borderline. The tombs became small grassy hills with the years, some being so old they'd long lost the ornaments that marked them. Not all the people of Badon Hill were buried there. Most laid in the churchyard ground, but this was a pagan cemetery. Beneath that earth rested those that came from the various old tribes of Britannia, Britons that had kept to the old Gods...and of course, Sarmatian knights. In fact, an alarming amount of tombs sported swords protruding from their crest. Covered in rust, yet still mesmerizing things, they marked the glory of the man lying beneath.

A grave deep enough for Devnet to stand inside it and not be seen, and wide as to albergue at least two average sized men, had already been dug and awaited freshly to be occupied. The committee gathered around the small pit in silence, head hanging low. Bors and Arthur laid Dagonet's litter carefully on the grass beside the freshly dug grave.

The funeral was a strange result of a syncretism between sarmatian, British and even roman traditions. They murmured prayers in Latin, sang old celtic funerary choruses, and the knights performed the few rites of death they still kept from their homeland. Dagonet's soul was entrust to some superior force and prayed for at least ten times in a different way and language, but in the end it all came down to a common cause...allow the knight to rest in peace and freedom. After the prayers were done, Arthur and the knights lowered their fallen brother at arms to the grave. Devnet could not bear to watch how Dagonet disappeared beneath a mountain of earth and averted her eyes. Only then did she realize that Nine was not at her side anymore.

-Nine?-she called in a half-whisper, before turning to Ten at her other side—Sweetie, where's your sister?-.

-I'm right here-.

Nine made her way back through the crowd lowering her head apologetically-I went to pick this for Uncle Dag-she explained, holding a small bunch of flowers clustered in her pale hand for Devnet to woman's face softened immediately, and kneeled to hug her.

-They're beautiful-she smiled tenderly at Nine-I'm sure he would have liked them. Why don't you give them to him? Come-she took the girl's hand and walked towards the grave.

-Wait!-she said to Bors just before the man climbed out of the pit. Devnet breathed in and pushed herself to look over the edge. Dagonet laid peacefully, hand crossed over his chest, where he held his axe. His shield was at his feet. Devnet frowned and looked away-Take that dreadful thing from his hands-she protested, before pulling Nine forward-Look, put this flowers your daughter picked up for him instead-

. Bors frowned and shook his head, molested-I ain't burring Dag with a bunch of flowers in his hands like some weak little wench-he spat, and Nine backed away to hide behind Devnet's skirts, looking slightly wounded by her father's words.

Devnet was starting to piss-off-Oh, for the love of all the Gods, Bors, Dagonet had enough battle in his life!-she cried out a little louder than she'd liked. She breathed deeply before continuing in a much calmer tone-Please-she begged-Let him rest with flowers and peace in his hands, and put war at his feet, because he's already won-.

A silence followed her petition, and after a moment Gawain cleared his throat-He was as good a soldier as he was a healer, but c'mon, Bors, we all know that he always preferred the second over the first-.

Finally, the thick man nodded stiffly and extended his massive hand towards his daughter, not looking irritated anymore, but with a sad smile-Here, love-he managed to whisper with a hoarse voice-Im' sorry if I scared you. Give me those flowers. I'll give them to your uncle-.

The axe was placed beside the shield, and Dagonet's hands filled with Nine's small bucket of flowers. After that, everyone had to agree that image represented far much better who Dagonet had been in love: a fierce looking man capable of holding something small and delicate without ever making it suffer. It was probably like he would have wanted to be remember. Bors, as Dagonet's best friend, began filling the grave back with soil, until a proud, fresh mount covered Dagonet's body. Arthur stepped foward, holding out Dagonet's massive sword and extended it to his knights. Bors took it with trembling hands and stared at it for a long time. Everyone exchanged glances of sadness and uncertainty. Costum dictated that someone ought to say something about Dag, but nobody knew how to start, and what to say. Bors, who'd known him best off all, was barely in condition to speak at all.

In the end, after a moment of hesitation, Devnet decided to step forward and kneel beside the grave, hiding her hands beneath her thick, black cloak to conceal how much they were shaking. She cleared her throat.

-I don't believe it's necessary to say many words for Dag. He knows how each of us feels about him. He's always known. Dagonet just had that ability of seeing inside our hearts and finding out how we truly felt; so whatever it is that any of you might think you'll never get to tell him, you can be certain that he already knew it. Perhaps even before you knew it yourselves-Devnet gave a deep, trembling breath, trying to keep her voice from breaking, and continued-However, because we all need something to hear and to hold on to after this loss, we can say that Dagonet was more than a brave man and an excellent warrior, which undoubtedly he was. But he was also a beautiful, gentle soul inside a not so gentle body, but the good in him was such that his size never got in the way of his extremely delicate kindness. He was a friend, an older brother, a guide to all of us. And most memorable of all, he was a shield. Our shield. Hope's shield-she paused again and this time was unable to restrain the tears forming in her eyes-Sarmatians believe that fallen knights return to life as great horses. Might Dagonet reincarnate in one of the best stallion's this world has ever seen-.

A silent agreement swept through the crowd and everyone noticed. Stifling a sob, Devnet stood up and walked over to hug herself to Lancelot, hiding her face in his chest. The man held her silently, as he'd always done during the funeral of one of the knights. Gawain walked over, holding the box that contained Dagonet's discharge papers, which they had taken away from the romans, and laid it at the foot of the grave. He stood up and sighted, looking at it.

-Goodbye, old friend-he said simply-We'll be reunited soon-.

Slowly, everyone paid their respects to the grave and started to walk back to the fortress. Arthur departed from the grave, but instead of returning with the others, he went to sit at the foot of another grave some distance away. His father's, who despite being a Christian, had wished to be buried beside his men. Devnet saw how Guinevere's eyes followed the young commander, and after a moment, the woad girl trailed after him.

One by one, the Devnet and the other knights slapped Bors shoulder comfortably and walked away. Devnet leaned over to place a kiss on the man's bald brow before hurrying to catch up with the others.

They walked in silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts until Devnet finally stated in a curiously neutral tone-This is wrong. So wrong-she crossed her arms beneath the black cloak-He wasn't supposed to die-.

-All men must die-replied Tristan to her left, lifting his eyes to the skies, where his falcon was doing its hunting-It's the way of life-.

-But not like this-protested Devnet-looking over at him-The six of you were supposed to be freed. Not five. If it hadn't been for this damn last-minute mission...-she trailed off. Turning her head slightly to look over her shoulder, she saw that Bors had plopped beside Dagonet's grave, spilled part of the wine he had in a flask and then drank the rest himself. The girl sighted and fixed her eyes back on the road, shrugging.

-Aye, fate can be a cruel thing at times-agreed Gawain-He deserved more than what he got-.

-He died as he wanted to, though-added Lancelot after some time-It's more than what others got-. Everyone nodded in agreement and continued walking in silence. Tristan's hawk returned to its master's shoulder, holding a small mouse between its claws.

-At least it's all over now-Galahad sighted after some time to no one in particular.

Devnet grimaced and kicked a stone in the road-Sometimes I doubt whether if it will ever be over at all-almoust right after that, she stepped dead on her tracks. The other stopped too a few steps ahead, looking at her quizzically. Much to their surprise, the tiny woman let out a shallow, bitter laugh-Gods! Im starting to sound like you!-she exclaimed, pointing at Lancelot.

The dark knights tilted his head slightly and made a bent grin-Well, after fifteen years, it was bound to happen-.

Gawain rolled his eyes-After fifteen years, we were bound to kill you, but you're still here-.

Lancelot shrugged as they started walking again-To what end? Women would've just decended all the way to Hell to bring me back, wouldn't they, Dev?-.

The girl crooked and eyebrow-Maybe, but only to kill you themselves for being such a man-whore who broke their hearts-she replied lightly, making everyone laugh in a low, bitter tone. After their chuckles had died away, Devnet shook her hair away from her face and sighted heavily-Did anyone else felt like he was laughing right here beside us?-she asked quietly.

Beside her, all the men nodded.

-Aye-said Tristan, melancholically taciturn-We all did-.


	21. XVII) At the Threshold of Fate

**Hello everyone ! Well, first of all I want to apologize for taking so long in posting, I had this massive writer's block and I just couldn't find a war around it or through it until a couple of days ago. And of course, I didn't want to give you a fastly written, poor chapter. But well, here it is (finally) So, don't forget to leave your votes and reviwes on the story 3**

The sky went from grey to lilac, to purple to blue, until finally settling for tone close to black as the night took over the land of Britannia. The fortress of Badon Hill fell into an uneasy vigil. The Saxons would be there tomorrow, of that there was no doubt, and since the last of the roman garrison stationed in the area would leave along with Bishop Germanous and Alecto Honorius, the villagers hurried up and down, preparing to leave with them, already resigned to the fact that the place would fall at the hands of the invaders.

Freed at last, tomorrow wasn't too soon for the sarmatian's either. In a single evening they settled everything to leave the next day along with the rest. They'd turn their backs to this life and try never to think of it again for what was left of their time.

And Devnet was stuck in the fact that the last hours of that life were swiftly slipping by and still a part of her was reluctant to go. She'd agreed to leave with them, but due more to the fact that she seemingly had no other choice, than because she was truly convinced that it was what she wanted. She knew the woads were gathering at the woods north of the Wall for the upcoming battle, ready to fight and die if necessary for what was rightfully theirs. That mere idea had her chewing at her nails, for she could feel the tug of invisible strings pulling her towards the Blue People, even though she knew it was an absolute madness.

The others had gathered at their usual table at the tavern one last time, drinking for Dagonet and recalling perhaps, with mixed feelings of relief, regret and a special king of nostalgia, the past fifteen years that had been their life, and how, even as much as they hated to admit so, this land has forged them to be who they were, as individuals and as a band of brothers. They'd experienced together more than what a regular man would experience alone in a lifetime, and as she sat listening to stories of all kinds, some that she knew and some that she hadn't been part of, she could not understand how they could live it all behind with so much detachment and scatter away into the vast corners of eastern Europe, perhaps never to see each other again. Maybe they'd all travel together for a while, at least to the borders of Sarmatia, but from that point, each would part their separate ways, for the country was large and each of them came from different corners of the land. And just like that all would've been said, done and forgotten? Vanish into the void as if had never happened, like a bad memory tossed away? What of the good times they'd shared? The very ones they were no recalling as they sat in front of their mugs of ale, like almoust every night in the past fifteen years, sometimes more, sometimes less, but always there.

Suddenly Devnet couldn't stand it all anymore. She hurried her drink and sprang from Lancelot's lap a bit more brusquely than she'd intended to.

—What? Where are you going?—asked Galahad, surprised by her reaction seemingly out of nowhere. As far as the knights were concerned, the story they were currently telling couldn't have insulted her in anyway.

—Im just tired—Devnet excused herself, pulling her most convincing yawn—It's been a bloody rough day. I feel like my body's crumbling to dust. I'm going to bed, see y'all in the morning—.

She hurried off while they mumbled ther goodbyes, still looking puzzled; but instead of heading towards her room in the quarters, she took it to wander idly around the fortress. Devnet felt the same anxiety shared by all its inhabitants wash over her as well as she moved through the streets, trying to escape it. The stars seemed as cold and distant as ever on that chilly winter night. The air smelled of snow and smoke, feeling her nostrils with its cold, burnt scent. For once the streets were almoust deserted, she didn't even encounter an ally cat. Everyone was locked up inside their houses, knowing it would be the last time they'd sleep beneath that roof, and preparing for the crusade of finding a new home.

Sick of that solitary scenary of apparent abandonment, she nearly fled back to the knight's headquarters, where at least the few torched set at regular intervals on the walls provided a bit more warmth and a dim light. The girl however, ruled off the idea of actually going to bed. Sleep eluded her. Finally, she plopped her elbows with resignation on a stone window frame and looked at the village below her with a melancholical light in her eyes. Resting her face on her fist, the deepest of sights escaped her lips and wandered off into the night, carrying her sorrows.

—Why are you been like this?—.

The woman flinched, though what had caught her off guard wasn't so much Lancelot's sudden appearence than the frosty tone of his voice. She turned to look at him.

—What do you mean?—.

Lancelot pushed his body away from the wall he'd been leaning against and paced towards her—Wandering off alone without giving explanations to anyone, looking around with those eyes that make you look like you're dying—he stopped by her side—Why such great a sight?—.

Devnet crooked and eyebrow, frowning—We buried Dagonet only a couple of hours ago, Lancelot. How else am I supposed to feel? Of course I won't go around with a big smile on my face—she replied with annoyance, fixing her eyes back on the window view. She knew Lancelot would've frowned upon the real answer, and for that one time, she was in no mood for bickering.

—Of course not, but you don't go off to wander by yourself either. By all Hell's demons, I've never been able to shake you off for at least a month when our other brothers died—Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest, resting his lower back against the window frame.

—Lancelot, if you wanted my company so badly, you could've just asked—she replied ironically.

The knights snorted with irritation and leaned over to grab her wrist in a swift move—I'm not here to fight you, Gods damned woman—his grip softened when he noticed that Devnet was flinching slightly—Devnet, I think we're well past the point in which I say Im your friend and that you can tell me anything. Something troubles you and I know you well enough to guess what it is—he drew a short breath and continued, holding both of her hands firmly—You owe nothing to this damn land, and to those people. All that's left for you here is solitude, if not death—.

Devnet gave him a languid stare with her blue eyes, before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him slowly, making sure the night melted around them. —No, better if you don't talk about death—she whispered then, grassing his lips with hers—Or the woads. Or Sarmatia. I don't want to think about the rest of the world for what's left of tonight. Make me forget—.

Lancelot didn't have to be asked twice when it came to that. He claimed her mouth expertly, pulling her by the hips against him in a tight mangle of limbs. The couple stumbled with haste to a room; Lancelot's, Devnet's, which ever they found first. Their backs hit the cold stone walls every few steps, pushed against it by the other, while they kissed fervently and already started to undress each other, losing strings, laces and buttons.

A hollow thud against her back, followed by a faint series of creaks, allowed Devnet to know that she'd been pushed against a door. She clung tighter to Lancelot's frame when the door opened behind her. From the fact that no cat came rushing forward to meet them, nor did she hear any sort of hiss or offended meow, they'd probably entered Lancelot's room. Still holding her tight, the man locked the door behind him before scooping her up easily in his arms. Devnet pressed her palms against either side of the man's face and kissed him longley, wanting to wash away the world. She took the black curls of his hair between her fingers and stretched the strands as far as they would go, only to let them bounce back to their original tight knot again. She bit his bottom lip and pulled at the soft skin lightly, causing him to emit a low moan before doing the same with her.

Slowly, he eased her on the bed and laid on top of her. Devnet shifted her posture slowly to accommodate herself beneath the muscled weight of his body, letting out a soft moan between sights when she felt just how much his manhood desired her.

Slowly, Lancelot's hand travelled up her skinny, taut thighs, the calluses in his hand rubbing lightly over her soft skin. Devnet arched her back so that he could pull the dress over the curve of her bottom and finally take it away, pulling it over her head. The gown was abandoned on a corner at the foot of the bed. Devnet got rid of his clothes. Took away his vest, grabbed the back collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing over in a heap along with her own dress. Her hands worked their way across the man's torso, discovering with a certain concern new bruises that adorned his skin, acquired throughout their quest beyond the Wall. She heard him hiss under his breath when she touched blindly the sore spots in his back.

—Oh, Lancelot—whispered the girl with tenderness, kissing his temple while caressing his slightly pained muscles with gentleness—How bad?—.

—Not much—he replied hoarsely—Don't worry—.

—But-

Her insistence died in a little yelp of surprise when the man suddenly spun turned so that she sat on top of him before sitting up too, with no difficulty nor a single grimace on his face, despite the bruises.

—Really, don't worry—he repeated with a smirk on his face. Devnet giggled and shook her head, rolling her eyes at the fact he was always proving to be the best stallion in the pack, and to top, he actually was.

—Whatever you say—she replied with a matching smirk, before kissing him again, her hands pulling once more at the curly strands of his hair.

Lancelot's hand traced the outline of her spine, upwards, and when he reached her head, he loosened the small braids that kept her hair away from her face. He adored the image of her long hair hanging wild and free, stumbling over her shoulders and along her back, framing her face while he made love to her. A detail as simple as the contrast of its dark chestnut colour against the freckly paleness of her shoulders managed to drive him another step closer to insanity. With a knowing grin, he began a slow, enticing movement against her hips, enjoying the caress of her warm sights in his right ear.

One of the girl's little white hands snaked almost curiously between his legs, starting to undo the laces of his trousers. Lancelot closed his eyes with a smile, raining light kisses on her neck.

—Mhhhhm—he mumbled against her skin—Hasty—.

Devnet pulled her face away just enough to look him in the eye with an arched eyebrow and a half—smile—Are you complaining?—.

Lancelot bit at her bottom lip, as he began to do the same with her underwear—Never—.

How many sights Devnet lost to that man, she'd never be able to tell. When their bodies joined, it seemed possible that everything could last forever. They wished it did. They wished they could spent the rest of their lives in that sweet abandonment they found in each other, and only in each other, while they made love. It had been quite some time now since the last night Lancelot spent with another woman, but strangely enough...or maybe not so strangely at all, he had no need, no desire for other feminine company save the one he had. That little thing trembling of pleasure beneath his touch.

A series of steady knocks made them flinch and they both looked over to the door at the same time, still joined in mind and body.

-Lancelot! You've better come and see this-they recognized Jols voice behind the wall, firm and alarmed.

-Don't answer-Devnet managed to whisper between sights, returning her attention to him.

-No-replied the knight shortly, moving his body along with hers.

Jols, however, didn't give up, but knocked again and continued to call for the knight, insisting on the importance of him going to the Wall. Such was his insistence that Devnet turned her head once more and made a slight frown of concern.

-Maybe...-she panted softly-Maybe you should go...-.

Lancelot raised a hand and held it against the back off her head, turning her softly back to look at him-Maybe I will-he replied, biting her neck lightly, making her moan-But only after I've finished what I started-.

Devnet flung the violet dress over her head and pulled it down her body carelessly and didn't even bother to fetch a cloak. Both left the room without a word and ran to the Wall behind Jols.

At the base of the massive stone construction, Devnet saw that nearly the whole town was gathered, looking up and whispering to each other fervently, looking pale and haunted. The girl's insides froze when she realized that couldn't mean anything good. She pulled her skirts and climbed the stair in quick tiptoes to join the other knights, who were leaning against the cornices with gloom in their eyes.

—What is it?—she asked before she'd even got at the top of the stairs.

Gawain stepped back from the cornice to make some space for her—See for yourself—.

Devnet peered through the gap between the pillars and the air caught in her throat, a pale white hand flying to her mouth. Before her eyes, extended on the wide field between the Wall and the northern forest, was the feared Saxon army. They were settled just beside the treeline, and their ranks extended from left to right for nearly a mile. Their fires glimmered evilly, like the eyes of a thousand beasts hiding in the darkness, waiting for the precise moment to pounce on their pray. Against the light, the figures of Scandinavian wildling lurked like demons sent straight from the entrails of the Yeffern.

By instinct, Devnet stepped back while Lancelot looked down himself. The girl exchanged glances with her fellow knights, feeling cold and vulnerable. She found the same uncertainty and aye, even fear mirrored in their eyes. Up until then, the Saxon horde had been an invisible enemy if which they'd only seen a small battalion, and a trail of destruction, but no one had paused to actually ponder on the invader force's real magnitude. It wasn't until that very moment that they realized their attackers' power was immense, even beyond what they had dared to imagine.

—By all the Gods, I've never seen so many—Devnet gasped, resting her back against the wall between Galahad and Lancelot—How many men do you think are camping out there?—.

—Judging by the amount of torches...—said Tristan in a flat tone—Thousands—.

Devnet shook her head, horrified, eyes lost on the village below. A pang of anguish broke her heart as she saw her whole life burning under the Saxons' fires, slaughtered by their long knives. How were they going to outrun such massive force?

They heard someone shouting for the villagers below to make way, and Arthur appeared between the crowd, climbing the stairs two at a time, with Guinevere at his heels. Quite out of context Devnet couldn't help but notice that her cousin's dress was crooked, a sleeve hanging from one shoulder; like it been put on in a hurry. Gwen's hair was all over her face, loosened from the simple half tail at the back of her head, and she was almost sure that there were faint, pink marks on the woad princess's neck. Devnet's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets and she quickly turned to study Arthur in the same way. No battle gear, just a simple black tunic and cotton pants. Black curls standing on ends, flushed cheeks. The half—woad nearly fell of the wall in surprise. Though she could only imagine what those two had been up two before the alarm was raised, Devnet was quite sure her conjectures could only be correct.

She snapped back to reality when the roman commander suddenly stepped away from the Wall edge and turned to look around. He looked at each of his men, who lowered their eyes without a word, for they all knew what he was thinking. Devnet felt her heartbeat ring in her ears at the fact that her friend could even consider such idea. Arthur turned and gazed at the crowd below. Men, women, elders and children, their faces lifted towards him pale and scared. Hustled against each other, shivering in fear. They were about to lose everything they had, their home, their lands, their whole life. Left with nothing at all, even if they escaped, the Saxon horde would continue their march and eventually there would be nowhere else to hide.

Unless someone battled against them to drive them away.

Slowly, the commander turned to look back at the men he'd commanded for fifteen years. His expression was solemn and set with determination. He'd made up his mind.

—Knights—he said gravely, nodding towards them—My journey with you ends here—.

He looked at each one of them. Lancelot released a heavy breath, looking down. Devnet shook her head and aimed to step forward but change her mind, standing uneasily on her feet.

—Might God go with you—continued Arthur. His eyes lingered on the faces of his shaken brothers at arms, those men he'd defended and fought alongside with, and forged bonds of friendship and brotherhood. He glared at Devnet one last time, eyes softened for a second with tenderness at his little sister. Finally the young commander nodded his head, knowing that his task was finally done, and in silence he stepped and strode away without looking back.

—No...—murmured Devnet, finding her voice when it was already too late. The realization of what Arthur actually intended to do rose up to meet her like a wall and her consciousness crashed against it with nothing to ease its collision. She wasn't slow—minded; she'd known what he was going to do the moment he'd turned to look back at his men, but it was only now that he was already walking away from her that the fact actually sank inside her.

Arthur was going to _sacrifice_ himself.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lancelot shake his head, rolling his eyes. The man turned to look at her, his jaw set tight, and Devnet realized what he was about to do just a second before he set off after his best friend.

—Lancelot, wait!—she half—cried, sprinting behind him. Knowing those two like she did, an argument sure was coming, and someone had to be there to cool off both men's spirits. She heard Guinevere's hasted steps behind her.

—Arthur, this is not Rome's fight—Lancelot called at his friend's back while they descended the stairs, lifting his voice above the frightened murmurs from the crowd—It is not your fight!—.

The roman didn't even bother to show any signs of having hear his words. Eagerly, Lancelot jumped over the last three steps and strode towards him, his pace vehement and angry—All this years we've been together!—he continued with passion in his voice, desperate to make the other man see—The trials we've faced! The blood we've shed! What was it all for if not for the reward of freedom!?—.

Arthur continued oblivious to his best friend frenzies speech, and Devnet could see Lancelot was starting to run out of what little patience he had. He clutched his fist in front of his face, gesturing fervently.

—And now that it's so close...when it's finally within our grasp—LOOK AT ME!—the knight burst half—way through the sentence, yanking his commander's arm and forcing him to turn with vicious black eyes—Does it all count for nothing!?—he spat rabidly.

—You ask me that?—Arthur finally reproached back, but unlike Lancelot, the roman's tone was quiet and profound, while he gazed at the man in front of him as if he were some stranger—You who know me best of all?—.

Though his back was tuned towards her, Devnet could see how Lancelot was taken aback by such accusation. Arthur stared back at him coldly before he began walking away again. In an act of absolute desperation, Lancelot launched forward and blocked his friend's way.

—Then do not do this!—he insisted in a loud voice. Devnet had never seen him so preoccupied about someone else. That man in front of Arthur actually seemed capable of shedding tears if necessary in order to dissuade the commander's decision—Only certain death awaits you here, Arthur! I beg you! For our friendship's sake I beg you!—.

Suddenly Arthur extended his arm and clasped the side of his friend's face—You be my friend now and do not dissuade me—he replied tightly, trying to knock his words inside the stubborn Sarmatian's head—Seize the freedom you have earned and leave it for the both of us. I cannot follow you, Lancelot!—.

Lancelot lowered his gaze while the other man went on. —I know now that all the blood I've shed, all the lives I have taken, have led me to this moment—he explained.

There was confidence in his voice, security in the way he stood. While Lancelot was hunched and almost afraid, boiling with turmoil; Arthur was surrounded by a halo of undisturbed serenity. Perhaps it was a divine force acting through him, but it was at that moment that Devnet realized that nothing in this world or the other would change the man's chosen path. Lancelot apparently understood it to, for after a moment of staring at his friend with black eyes so begging and sorrowful that they broke Devnet's heart, he gulped and nodded, looking towards the floor in defeat.

Still holding the man's face fraternally, Arthur looked over his shoulder at Devnet. The girl bit her bottom lip, trembling and uncertain of what to do. She fell a tiny tear welling at the corner of her eye.

—Arthur...—she whispered with a shaky—breath, thought she knew that she could fall on her knees and crawl until they were bloody, and still her pledged would be in vain.

The man in front of her smiled softly, with such gentleness, so wise and reassuring, that she almost burst out crying openly, remembering just how much of an older brother he was to her.

—Arthur, please...—.

—This is what I must do, Little One. I see it now. Do not worry, you won't be alone—he turned back to look at Lancelot—I know that you'll take care of her, as much as I have all this years—.

Lancelot battled with his best friend's gaze for a brief instant before nodding again, pressing his lips together in an anguish frown.

Satisfied, if such word was appropriate for that situation, Arthur clasped his best friend's head and shoulder with brotherly affection. Eyes still lost on the floor, Lancelot patted distractedly the man's hand on his shoulder as he passed. He turned to watch Arthur walk away with resignation and then looked up to the tormented sky above, his sight coming out in a small cloud of white in the cold night air. Devnet bit at her bottom lip, and made a step towards the knights, but behind her, Guinevere caught her wrist and made her turn.

—A word with you, Devnet—she asked girl alternated her sight from her cousin to Lancelot and back to the woad again. Guinevere clenched her jaw—It's important—she insisted.

—But I...—Devnet breathed deeply—All right then. What is it?—.

—Not here—Gwen had already started to walk away from the crowd—Let's go somewhere we won't be overheard—.

The woad woman dragged her away from the crowd, into the deserted streets of town. For long minutes she didn't utter a single word, until she felt sure that no one could be listening. Then she turned to her cousin, eyeing her with unsettling seriousness. —It's time—she announced bluntly—You must choose now. You must come to us—.

—I...what?—Devnet stared blankly at her, taken aback.

—Fight with the woads—pledged Guinevere—Fight with your people. Defend your freedom—.

Devnet looked away, molested—Again with this, Guinevere?—.

—How can you turn your back to this land, when all your life is here?—the girl darted forward and caught her by the arm, eyes glistering dangerously—We are your people. And when I say "we" I don't mean just the woads. I mean the people of Britannia. We're all Britons. Shouldn't we stand up for our own right to be here? This is our land—.

—Do you realize what you're asking of me, Guinevere?—hissed Devnet through gritted teeth, aproaching her cousin—You're asking me to forsake the only real family I've ever had!—.

—And they are asking you to forsake the only home you've ever had—.

—I can find a new one. In Sarmatia—.

—Can you?—the woad woman lifted her eyebrow sceptically.

Devnet pressed her lips together and looked away. She didn't want Guinevere to see her hesitate. How could she be so weak, when her cousin seemed too strong and confident? When had she turned into this woman she could hardly recognize as herself?

—Life moves on, and we must adapt ourselves to it—she replied blindly, thought it felt like she was just repeating and old, meaningless phrase in a feeble attempt to convince herself. It certainly didn't convince her cousin.

—Devnet, look inside yourself. You know you don't wish to do this!—with no repair, Guinevere grabbed Devnet's chin and forced the girl to face her—Maybe you don't own anything to us—she continued in a tight voice—But you own your whole life to this land. Your very essence. You can leave to those eastern grasslands beyond the Black Sea, try and build a new life there. But you know that you'll never truly be as happy as you've been before, as long as you're away from this place. You know the fact that you left your land at the hands of the Saxons will haunt you the rest of your years—.

Devnet said nothing, knowing that every word she spoke was true, and she couldn't bare it. Besides, she felt too much shame of her own cowardice.

—Fight with us—insisted Guinevere, and this time, she spoke in gaelic—Fight for this land. Fight for your home—she let go of her chin, still piercing her with her terrible, beautiful dark eyes—There's more of a woad in you than what you think—she stepped back, shaking her head when Devnet still kept her silence, too bewildered, to overwhelmed, to confused to speak her mind—You have until morning. And then...you'll have to choose where your loyalty lays—.

Devnet gritted her teeth and clutched her fists into tight balls at either side. Guinevere, however, seemed undisturbed by her anger. The woad woman was fairly determinate with getting away with what she wanted of her, and now, Devnet had her doubts. Maybe that was what she wanted of herself too. Or maybe not. Why couldn't she make up her mind? Or actually, why wasn't she brave enough to make up her mind. "_It is a folly to stay, but I would be lying to myself if I say I want to go"_.

Her head once more in a riot, she returned to her chamber. Her kitten Cataibh was nowhere to be seen. Her bed had never looked so uninviting. With a frustrated grunt, the slim woman scooped herself up the window still and sat to stare at the thousand fires of the Saxons, blinking back at her like fireflies. If she pondered on the matter of her outcome anymore, she would certainly go mad. It was like chewing the same piece of meat, over and over again, for the last couple of months. It had become so trying it hardly seemed worth to think of any longer. But what other choice did she have, when she was practically at the crossroads and still hadn't even come close to deciding which turn she would take...

—Where the hell have you been?—Lancelot entered her room without a ceremony, to which she was quite used to by now. The man still seemed to be boiling with uneasiness, as he couldn't stand still, and instead took it to pace around the girl's room, his breath ragged—I've been looking all over the fortress for you. Come, we must go and see Arthur before that woad cousin of yours sneaks back inside his quarters and continues to feed his head with this bloddy insane idea of staying—.

—If you didn't manage to convince him otherwise, Lancelot, then no one will—Devnet replied softly, drawing her knees to her chest, without giving any signs of moving.

The knight finally ceased his pacing and narrowed his black eyes dangerous at her—You're wrong. All you must do is go and blink a few tears at him and he'll do whatever you ask of him; even cast his head inside the hottest fires in hell—.

Devnet bit her lip and looked away to conceal a few tears of sadness. She hugged herself, rubbing her palms against her forearms and shook her head in denial. —It's been a long time since Arthur was moved by my tears. Im not a child anymore—she informed with a dull look—Let it go, Lancelot. Understand that there's nothing you can do, nor me, nor anyone else—.

—So you're suggesting that I should just watch how my best friend walks towards a certain death with my arms crossed!?—Lancelot plopped on the edge of her bed, grunting in frustration and pressing his fist against his temple. Moved by his beaten-up aspect, Devnet stepped forward and tenderly took his rough cheeks between her palms.

—Lancelot—she said sweetly, lifting his face so he would look up at her—As much as you want to, you can't make someone else's choice for them. Arthur's made up his mind and all we can do is respect his decision—.

Lancelot shook his head in denial—If he stays here he'll die!—he exclaimed desperately, striking a blow in the air with his palm—How am I supposed to live with my conscience clean if I know I did nothing to prevent him from getting killed!?—.

—You already did what you had to do, but you cannot force him to change his mind, Lancelot!—she replied, a little bit sharper than intended. With a heavy sight, she kneeled in front of him and pushed away the rebellious black curls from his forehead—Arthur has made his decision just as you have made yours. It's over. The path has been chosen. Take yours and let Arthur go down his own. As his friend, that's the only thing you can do—.

Lancelot shook his head, trying to find words he didn't even knew if existed. He refused to let go of the idea of his best friend, his brother staying behind for such a helpless cause. He buried his hands in his hair with an exasperated sight, pulling at the black strands with insistence.

—Who would've thought...—Devnet said then in a quiet, soothing voice; as her hand found his cheek—That beneath all this mesmerizing, seductive warrior with explosive temper there's an actual human being?—.

Despite his anger, Lancelot couldn't help but chuckle in a low grumble filled with sarcasm and he pulled the girl on his lap—Tell anyone, my pretty lady, and I'll make sure you'll wish you'd never learnt to speak in first place—he warned her, holding back a smile—I do have quite a reputation to maintain—.

He succumbed then to the tiny young woman in his arms, taking her offer of forgetting his strife, even if it was only for the night. He wasn't one to reject her "petite" company anyways. He groaned, losing his senses to the crook of her shoulder, to the smell of her hair. Gods be praised for women...especially for her.

Well into the night, they spread across the mess of sheets and blankets, heads side by side, and feet opposite to each other. They'd surrendered to the fact that there was little chance of them catching any sleep at all, and instead preferred to lay amongst lazy whispers, until their spent energies returned and they could make love again.

After a moment of empty contemplation, Devnet averted her eyes from the stone ceiling and tilted her head to the side, to look at Lancelot. —Do you ever think about death—she inquired a moment of thought. The question came out barely louder than a whisper.

Lancelot frowned with puzzlement, still running a finger lacily over Devnet's left hipbone, as he'd been doing so for the last ten minutes or so.

—Yes, of course I do—he replied, missing wherever she'd been heading with that—It'd be impossible for me not to so, considering the lie I've lead—.

—No, not like that—Devnet turned to lay on her side and rested her cheek against the palm of her hand—I don't mean whether if you've thought about it as something that occurs, or that might occur, but as something that is—.

—Meaning?—.

—What is death? Where does it take us?—.

Lancelot stared at her with a frown. His hand went still, resting on the girl's hip as he pondered an answer to her questions. He supposed it was natural of any human to have thought about mortality...just as it was natural to ignore them most of the times.

—Depends on who you ask. For some it means heaven, for others hell. Some just see it as the end of everything—he replied after a while.

Devnet snug closer to him and gently began tracing his chest with her finger.

—And to you?—.

Lancelot took his time before finally sighting in a low tone:

—_Freedom_—.

Devnet's breath caught in her throat, and he immediately realized she'd taken his answer the wrong way. Or maybe there just wasn't a right way to take it. Thinking back on his words, he did sound rather suicidal.

—You know how, for the last fifteen years my life, our life...it's been nothing but fight or die. You we're either sticking a sword through another one's body, or they were sticking it through yours, and when it wasn't like that, you were preparing for the next time it would be so. As long as you lived, you were a slave of this endless battlefield. In circumstances like that, death seems like the only way to be freed. No one can hold you back if you're dead, at least—he looked away to the window above the bed and sighted—Of course, we aimed to survive our service and be freed in this life. But well...you know the chances were thin. Falling in battle was...an alternative to escaping this hell—.

He turned to look at her again, and found her eyes lowered to his chest, her stare vacant and slightly melancholical. He rolled his dark eyes and cupped her face, forcing her to look at him.

—Why are you asking this anyway? It thought it was your idea to forget about everything tonight—he commented, maneging to pull the faintest of smiles on her face, though it was a sad one.

—The Saxons are literally camping on our backyard—she replied simply, knowing that the fact explained on itself. Lancelot shook his head and pulled close until his lips touched her.

—By the time they get across the Wall, you and I will be far away from this life, petite—.

Devnet did not reply, but merely allowed him to kiss her in silence.

The town people were up and about even before the crack of dawn. Life stories of many generations ago were dragged and left out in the open for everyone else to see as everyone emptied their homes, packing their whole life as they could, preparing to run.

Not indifferent to the apprehensive activity of the villagers, the knights too had started gathering their things, thought there wasn't much for them to carry. They'd come to the island with the intention of either leave or die, so in time they became accustomed to keep themselves from attaching to anything too related to Britannia. Their packs were filled mainly with practicable items of need, such as clothes, battle gear, supplies and precious objects with a monetary value they could exchange along the long voyage across the Roman Empire. Very few of the things they spent the whole morning carrying from their rooms to the saddles had an actual sentimental value.

Some four or three hours before sunrise, Devnet had finally managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, the kind that involved more incoherent thoughts than actual dreaming, and from which she woke from every few seconds. Because of this she was vaguely conscious that Lancelot woke up and left the bed at some point, dressing in silence beside her and placing a faint kiss on Devnet's temple before leaving, probably to ready himself too for their departure. Devnet knew that she ought to do the same, but she was so exhausted, both physically and emotionally, that she could not bring her body to rise from the bed and decided to take just another hour of sleep, even if she spent half of it tossing and turning in an attempt to actually achieving it.

It wasn't until well into the morning that the knights finally saw the girl step out of their head-quarters, with small reluctant steps. She stopped in the middle of the courtyard, blinking under the dim daylight, as if waking from some kind of deep slumber.

—Agh! Finally!—exclaimed Galahad as he passed by, his body arched backwards under the weight of the sack of grain he was carrying—What kept you?—.

Devnet didn't reply. Her gaze was empty, turned inwards in deep thought. A small frown wrinkled her forehead.

—Devnet—insisted Galahad, annoyed for being ignored—Devnet, move. I recall you that we must leave this place before midday—.

Startled by her silence, the knights left their chores momentarily to look at her with concern, scratching at their beards or taking the chance to stretch their muscles.

—Devnet, is something wrong?—inquired Gawain after a second of awkward silence.

Slowly, the girl lifted her face towards them, and some of the men shifted uncomfortably. There was something in her eyes that they failed to recognize, almost like if another person was looking through them. Such glance managed to make more than one slightly uneasy, as her answer became unpredictable and potentially unpleasant. Finally, after a long, unnerving silence that weight in the yard, ill-fated, the girl open her mouth and announced in an oddly flat tone, as if she herself hadn't grasp the meaning of her own words yet:

—I...Im not going with you—.


	22. XVIII) The Parting of the Ways

**¡FINALLY! Aftermoths of struggling with writer's block, the flue and final exams, I bring you this chapter. Im so, so sorry for taking so long, I hope it never happens again. Thank you so much for your patience and loyalty to this story. You guys are the best, and I really mean that. LOVE YOU 3 Don't forget to leave your comments and votes on the chapter 3 **

_*five years ago* _

_In the midst of July, a bright, burning sun extended its rays over the land of Britannia, bathing it in the warmest summer it had seen in years, especially up north in Hadrian's Wall. The grass was tipped in yellow, the roads were dry and dusty, the rivers filled with the cries of people bathing in an attempt to escape the daily heat. At that hour close to midday, the air, for once, could be describe as nothing else but hot._

_ "Too hot" Lancelot's back seemed to protest as he worked, shirtless, beneath the scorching sun. Sweat beaded his skin, incredibly tanned considering he'd always been pale. As he lifted the axe over his head again and again, chopping wood that was completely unnecessary in summer, yes, he had to admit that he should have known better than messing around with that roman lord's wife back at that southern state. This punishment not only was a completely pointless task, but also specially an especially torturous one. Resting the axe in the ground, he straightened and his arm flexed to push away his black curls from his forehead, exhaling with exhaustion and tediousness. His pulse was pounding in his ears, his muscles burned after the constant effort, he was hot and tired, and all in all, more irritable than usual. Besides, there was that Gods be damned perky little ringing sound that was driving him completely mad._

_ "Oh, for fuck's sake, there it is again!"_

_-Where the fuck is that bloddy noise coming from!?-he finally burst out loud, unable to stand it anymore. A few steps away from where he was chopping wood, the only person crazy enough to be willingly training with that heat, turned her attention to him. Devnet suddenly interrupted her shooting routine to look at the man quizzically, head slightly tilted to the side-What noise?-she asked in confusion. She was quite certain she hadn't hear a thing. She shook her head-I don't hear anything-. _

_-It's this bloody ringing that comes and goes and-THERE IT IS AGAIN, FUCK IT!-. _

_Devnet flinched at his shout and aimed wrongly, her arrow closely missing an unfortunate passing stable boy's head. After crying out a quick apology to the poor lad, she turned back to face Lancelot with a frown on her face-You startled me! I nearly killed that poor boy!-she scolded._

_-Never mind his sorry ass. That ringing sound is driving me crazy! Where on earth does it come from?!-. _

_Devnet's frown deepened-I don't know what sound you're talking about! There is no ringing!-. _

_-Bloody hell, I'm telling you there is!-protested Lancelot, stubbornly._

_ Devnet shook her head, thinking that maybe the heat was starting to affect the man's sanity, when suddenly she realized what might be causing the sound that had him so distressed. It would explain why he seemed to hear it every time she moved, and why she herself wasn't aware of it, since she was used to the sound by now. The girl put her hand inside the neckline of her gown and pulled out a thin chain from which hanged a single round pendant. She shook the chain gently and the little bell inside the sphere rang clearly, like the laugh of fairy. _

_-Here, is that the sound you were talking about?-she asked innocently. _

_Upon perceiving the tiny ringing, Lancelot's eyes immediately turned at the little object hanging from the girl's hand and they narrowed-Yes!-he cried out in exasperation, still looking at the pendant with annoyance-That's it! What on earth is that thing anyway!?-._

_ Devnet pulled the little bell back inside her clothes and smiled brightly, standing on her tiptoes to push the deep black curls away from the man's forehead, with the familiarity they were so used to already-It's an angel caller-she explain cheerfully, crossing her arms over her chest. _

_-A what?!-Lancelot walked over to a nearby bench where he had left his things, and grabbed a cloth to wipe the sweat from his face and neck, his chest rumbling with a few hoarse chuckles. When Devnet didn't join his laughter, however, he crooked and eyebrow-C'mon, you're not serious, are you?-he asked mockingly, pulling the towel around the back of his neck and tossing his shirt over his shoulder._

_ Devnet shrugged-Why wouldn't I be? It's what it's called-._

_ The young man shook his head in amusement. He bend over a nearby drinking trough and sank his head in the water first, and splashed his torso after-Where did you get such trinket?-he asked, still mocking, with his back turned to her. Devnet, who had been rather absorbed by the trail of the few scars that lashed the broad of his back, blinked a few times before frowning. _

_-Hey! It's not a trinket!-she protested, clearly offended. Lancelot turned, resting his lower back against the trough's border and crossed his arms over his muscled bare chest. Devnet pulled the little pendant again and laid it fondly in her hand, approaching the man so that he could have a better look at it. _

_-It was a present from my father, many years ago-she explained with tenderness-the little bell inside makes this adorable tingling-she held it against her ear and made it ring with a smile-According to the legend its sound attracts all kinds of good spirits. It the owner rings it while being in trouble, and angel while come to his or her rescue-with a last ring, she hid it away once more-Father said it would protect me from evil. I almost never take it off-. _

_Lancelot nodded, his lips forming a silent "Oh" of comprehension, and he shrugged, pushing himself away from the trough. _

_-A lovely story. I do have one question, however-Lancelot paused until Devnet motioned him to go on-Why on earth would your father want you to wear a bell around your neck like a cow?-. _

_The tender expression in the girl's face vanished like a ray of sunshine covered by a cloud. She closed her hand in a fist and punched the young man in the forearm-You're an idiot-she hissed-An absolute imbecile-. _

_-Hey-Lancelot showed her the palms of his hands-Whatever makes you sleep at night. But I'm not the one looking like a bloody animal-. _

_-I hate you!-the girl exploded in response, fighting back the tears-You ruin everything, Lancelot du Lac! Everything! Every time you see something pretty you must destroy it! You're heart's been carved out of stone!-she turned her heels furiously, to hide her tears, and tried to run, but Lancelot restrained her by the elbow._

_ -Devnet-. _

_-What?-she said sharply. She turned to look at him, and found his expression far more softened and serious. _

_-I don't believe in angels-he said in a quiet voice-Nor am I like one. But should you ever be in trouble, you can ring that bell, and I will come to your aid. Always-. _

_The girl looked him straight in those deep black depths that were his eyes, parting her lips slightly at the honesty in his words. She tried to say something, but before she got the chance, Lancelot smirked wickedly._

_ -Unless, of course, it's to help to retrieve something that's too high from your reach. Don't waste my time like that-. _

_The girl rolled her eyes and yanked free, looking bored-You're simply impossible-. _

_The man laughed loudly and pinched her nose-That might be so. But don't deny it is what you like most about me-he pointed out, teasing, before starting to walk towards the headquarters._

_ Though still with a small frown wrinkling her brow, Devnet snapped out of her confusion and followed his pace-Where are you going!?-she demanded in a high-pitched voice-You're not supposed to leave yet-. _

_-Too bad! I already am!-shouted the man, waving his hand without turning around. _

_Devnet stamped her foot in annoyance and bit her bottom lip-Arthur said you were to cut wood until past noon!-she protested with an accusative tone, causing nothing but a throaty laughter from Lancelot's part at her ridiculous childishness. _

_The man spun on his heels and smiled crookedly at her-The spectacle is over, lovely. If you want to see more of me half-naked, I'm afraid you'll have to come into my chambers and take my clothes off yourself-he winked at her mischievously before turning his back once more and walking away, chuckling at the befuddled expression he'd left on Devnet's face. _

_*end of flashback* _

There were many kinds of silence in life. The soft murmur of peace, the bitter quietness of disappointed, the startled half-gasp of surprise, the languid yawn of exhaustion, the stillness void of death. Some were comfortable, and some made people uneasy. Some were empty and others full of meaning worth a thousand words. Of all the many kind of silences there was, however, none would ever compare to the one that followed her announcement. It was like a dark cloud soared over the courtyard, shading the sun from everyone's features, turning them into living statues. The knights, Vanora, the children, all froze with expressions that ranged from mild surprise to utter shock, and their silence weighted on Devnet's heart. It contained all the worst characteristics of and uncomfortable silence...disappointment, shock, pain, anger, disbelief, emptiness and anguish.

Trembling from the tip of her toes to the most recondite parts of her spirit, Devnet endured that tension weighing over her like a hammer suspended over her head, ready to strike. Somewhere behind Bors, baby Eleven started crying. Yet no one dared to speak or seemed able to move. Even Tristan had stopped halfway through the act of getting a slice of apple into his mouth. Devnet could feel all those pairs of eyes fixed on her, glaring soul.

-You ... You ... What do you mean you're not coming with us? -.

It was Galahad who broke the silence.

Devnet turned her attention to that friend whom considered more of a twin. The young knight's jaw trembled slightly as he clenched teeth. A cold frown crossed his face and he shook his head, bewildered.

-I ... I cannot-admitted Devnet, voice still faltering-I can't do it. I will not do it-.

-What the hell are you talking about, woman!? -.

Everyone momentarily forgot all about her and turned to look at Tristan, surprised by his sudden outburst, so uncharacteristic of him. What would come next? Would Galahad announce that he wanted to convert to Christianity? Would Arthur declare that he no longer believed in his God?

Devnet cringed at Tristan's harsh tone, but she managed to retain control over what little courage she had-What I mean is that I'm staying. To fight alongside the Picts and Arthur-.

-Against the Saxons!? Bors exclaimed incredulously-Lass, have you lost your damn mind!? You will be slaughtered like a common pig! -.

-¡You idiot! Just how stupid are you?!-Galahad cried, going red with anger beneath his beard-How can you even consider sacrificing your life for this place!? ?! For these people!? -.

-¡Hey! These people are my people!-the girl answered without thinking. She froze, immediately realizing what she had just said and wondering where the hell that had come from. Surprised, Devnet heard a slight cough to her right and saw that Arthur had arrived at the courtyard too, with Guinevere at his heels. Devnet crossed eyes with her cousin, and much was exchanged between them with that look. The strange and unexpected bond they had developed during the journey back to Hadrian's Wall strengthened and consolidated at that very moment, and Devnet finally admitted the truth that she had proclaimed just a moment ago. Part of her did actually belonged to the Woads.

-YOU'RE CHOOSING THEM OVER US!? ! US, WHO HAVE BEEN BY YOUR SIDE FOR THE LAST FIFTEEN BLOODY YEARS-Galahad directly started yelling in anger-WE, WHO HAVE PROTECTED YOU, KNOW YOU AND LOVE YOU!-.

Devnet was so angered by his accusing words, that all her doubts evaporated suddenly and her eyes gleamed with a cold, burning fury instead-IM NOT CHOOSING YOU OVER THEM, MORON! AS ALWAYS, YOU'RE JUMPING INTO CONCLUSION BEFORE HEARING THE WHOLE DAMN STORY! -.

-I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR REASONS, DEVNET!-the man roared back, striding towards her until they were face to face-YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE WHENCH! WE HAVE GIVEN OUR LIVES FOR YOU, BUT AT THE FIRST OPORTUNIYT YOU RAN OFF TO HELP THOSE BLUE BASTARDS WHO HAVE BEEN TRYING TO KILL US SINCE THE DAY WE ARRIVED HERE! -.

-WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO TALK TO ME LIKE THA!"? HOW DARE YOU!?-cried the girl. Without previous notice, she burst into tears at the insults of Galahad. No one had ever talked to her in such manner, or at least, no one for whom she cared much-YOU KNOW NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL! AND YOU CALL YOURSELF MY FRIEND!? -.

-I BELIEVED YOU WERE MY FRIEND! TURNS OUT YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A DIRTY, TREACHEROUS BI-

-For fuck's sake, Galahad! SHUT UP!-.

The young knight's mouth hanged agape mid-sentence after Gawain shut him with such unexpected harshness. He stared at his best friend in bewilderment, clearly unable to even begin to imagine why, in the name of all the gods, he was cutting him off. The shaggy-looking warrior raised a hand to stop his younger companion from protesting, and slowly approached Devnet.

Tongue tied, the girl looked at him helplessly, not knowing what to say-Gawain I-

-Is this what you want?-.

Devnet lifted her gaze, surprised-I...What? -.

-This-repeated Gawain, laying a hand on each of Devnet's shoulders-Is what you really want? -.

Trembling with fear of a new outburst of anger like Galahad's, Devnet didn't even dare to node, but looked inside Gawain's clear blue eyes, that give him such a jovial, youthful look to his rough faced framed by untamed braids and dreadlocks from his hair and beard . Devnet found solace in those eyes, but more importantly, she found understanding. It was all she needed. Knowing that her decision, this decision would not cost her the knights' love.

-Yes-she finally dared to say, and to everyone's surprise, though not loud, her voice didn't stutter this time. Gaining back some confidence, she straightened up and looked proudly at her friend-Yes, it is-.

Gawain pierced her eyes intendedly, testing her determination, and after a moment suspense, much to Devnet's surprised, he pulled her to his chest in a fierce hug that knocked the air out of her and crashed her ribs. Though caught off guard, Devnet wrapped her arms around what she could of the knight's frame and buried her face in his shoulder, stifling a series of small sobs of relief. After that, Gawain pulled her away gently and dried the thin silver line a tear had left across the girl's cheek with his thump.

-Then do it-he declared, grinning proudly at her-Give them hell-.

Devnet half-chuckled, but before she had the chance to replay, Bors stepped towards them, looking angry and confused.

-Give them hell? That's it!? That's all you're going to bloody say to her!?-he protested loudly, rising his massive arms at his side. He pointed to Devnet, his round, dark eyes narrowing with an accusation similar to Galahad's-You...so the cub is really right. You are choosing the woads over us. You want to fight for those bloody bastards. We offer you freedom, yet you choose their blood? Their war? You desert us for that!?-.

Devnet shook her head, exasperated, and dodged past Gawain, taking the chance to look at all the knights in the eye. She had to make them see.

-No, please understand-she begged-You are my family, and nothing will ever change that for it's a bond beyond any land or culture in this world or the other-she paused, breathing deeply before continuing-I'm not choosing between the woads and the sarmatians. It's got nothing to do with my heritage. That doesn't matter anymore. This is about my memories...my own story. Remember the Song of Exile? "Land that gave us birth and blessing, land that give us hope and memories"-she repeated-This land is my home, not because I have celtic blood in my veins; but for the life I've lived here. And I...I can't turn my back to it and walk away when it needs me the most-the girl's eyes wondered off to her left again, and a sad sweet smile crept on her lips-Besides, someone has to watch over Arthur-she added softly, looking at the roman with glittering blue eyes-I can't leave him alone. He's always been there for me, unconditionally. Now it's time I return the favour-.

A small, knowing smile crept over Arthur's solemn features. The commander's eyes filled with a secret, brotherly tenderness towards the girl. He didn't say anything, barely even moved at all, but Devnet could see deep inside those green orbs that the roman was overwhelmed with gratitude, pride and even relief at her decision. Even Arthur Castus feared to fight alone. Devnet nodded towards him, mirroring his smile for a blink of a moment, before turning back her attention to the rest. E

veryone wore mismatched expressions. While Galahad and Bors still looked extremely angry and frustrated, Gawain was tranquil, standing beside her with a supporting, calloused hand on her pale shoulder. Tristan was sombre, tumultuous eyes half hidden beneath the lanky strands of the hair that fell over his face. Vanora, opposite to the men, seemed to be on the verge of tears. Her children, sensing the discomfort in the air, were quiet and their eyes were low.

But it was Lancelot who Devnet hadn't even dared to look at until then. The man was standing to Tristan's right. He had been saddling his horse, but he had approached the circle when he heard her words. A cold shuddered set at the pit of Devnet's stomach when she saw the man's face, deadly pale in his fury, and his eyes as hollow as holes in a skull. Words were not enough to describe his frozen features. She'd never felt particularly intimidated by his anger, but she certainly wasn't prepare to feel like he could actually hate her for what she had decided. Devnet felt her palms becoming sweaty with sudden anguish and clutched the fabric of her skirts between her fists to hide it. Surely her own mind had to be exaggerating.

-You more than anyone understand the human need of living free-she spoke again, looking at the men while still stealing glances in Lancelot's direction out of the corner of her eye-So you must understand what I tell you now: I cannot be free if I carry the knowledge that I abandoned this land to the Saxons. Guilt, pain and sorrow would follow me like a weight upon my back, preventing me from standing upright and proud. I'd be a slave of my own desertion. That isn't freedom, is it?-.

No, it was not, and deep inside the knights knew so. But they had spent all those years trying to protect that little girl, and somehow along the way she had crept inside their fearsome hearts. How then, where they to understand that she wanted to stay and fight, side by side with those who they had practically slaughtered since childhood? And for that land that had meant to them nothing but slavery and imprisonment, so far away from the land that had seen them born. The knights had never even thought of Devnet as a Celt. She had been brought up by her sarmatian father, grown surrounded by sarmatian knights. What sort of kindness did she own the woads? They had abandoned her, forsaken her, even disowned her from their legacy...had they not? Devnet did not belong here, no more than they did. Long longed Sarmatia awaited across the sea. But their sarmatian petite did not want to cross it with them.

After a moment, Tristan stepped foward-If you stay here, you stay to die-he informed her coldly-The woads will not give you freedom-.

-No. I will see myself freed-Devnet informed back, her head held high and proud-But it will not be by fleeing my own destiny. This land is my home, where my heart rests, and my only regret is that it took me so long to see it-.

The woman saw how the knights were taken aback by the edge in her voice, and it secretly pleased her that they respected her for once, not out of love, but for her pride and her intimidation. However, her features softened with grave and benevolence, and the emotional glimmer in her blue-brown eyes returned.

-But-she continued-All that I've just said doesn't make a thing about all of this any easier for me. To be separated from your love, from your support, from your very souls, pains me beyond any other torture my body or my mind could endure. There might be other loyalties for me, besides the one I have to you, but you'll always remain my one and true family. No matter if I die tomorrow, or live until my hair turns as white as frost, nothing will change that. Nothing could make me love you any less, or be unfaithful to you. Because I love you, and worship you, and need you. All of you. But in order to take my path, I have to let go of yours, and accept the fact that perhaps, they were never meant to be the same-.

Once again, a heavy silence reigned over the courtyard, calling every mind to reflect over the young half-woad's words. A low wind blew skirts and capes, but no one said anything, eyes turned inwards in concentration. Except for Devnet, who awaited impatient and anxious, for the outcome of all of this. This she realized, was the real turning point in her life. Not the moment she decided whether to go or to stay, but the moment in which those who loved her decided whether to accept her decision or not. Either way, it felt like part of her old home would be gone, just a single piece that would be lost, locked away only in her memory. Far away was the girl who had not known where the wind would take her. The wind would not bend her steps...but the knights' approval might.

After what seemed an entire age, it was Galahad who stepped forward, just as Devnet has expected. It was not in the young knight's nature to stay quiet for too long, especially when he had something to say, which proved to be nearly all the time anyways. He remained a few steps away from Devnet, obviously wanting to do something but daring not, or perhaps simply not knowing how.

Very cautiously, Devnet advanced towards him, taking care with each step, like approaching a wounded animal-Galahad?-she called softly, extended her hand to him.

A strayed beam of light rested momentarily over the knight's face. His clear blue eyes glistered with emotion, the only mark of innocence on a face otherwise fierce and hirsute. For that sole instance he was but a child, lost from his home but having found hope on a strange little girl not older than him on this strange cold island. Devnet say his lower lip tremble, or actually his jaw, as if he was making a huge effort in holding back a force beyond his control. Gently, the young woman reached out and touched the side of his cheekbone that remained smooth and hairless. Her touch seemed to bring the knight back to life. In a swift move, his own hands covered his, clinging to her slim little white fingers.

-Dev-he said in a low tone, his voice caught in his throat-I...what on earth am I going to entertain myself without my sister?-.

Relief washed over her-Oh Galahad!-she cried, throwing her arms around his neck while tears erupted from her eyes. Galahad returned the hug with equal strength, burying his face in her hair and praying to the Gods no one would see him cry.

-I love you-Devnet sobbed against her shoulder, one hand around his neck and the other on the back of his head. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, clinging to the smell of him-I don't know what I would've done without you all these years-she confessed.

Galahad held even more tightly to her waist before gently pulling away, a silvery glimmer in his eyes.

-Is there really no way to convince you to desist?-he asked in a strangled voice that told he was already aware of what her answer would be.

Devnet cupped his cheek fondly-You know there is not-she replied in a bittersweet tone.

Galahad nodded stiffly in reply-Yeah, I expected that-.

A small chuckled escaped Devnet's lip before Galahad pulled her into a hug again-Have a safe journey home, my dear Galahad. I hope you find all of your heart's desires there. Freedom, your family, you memories, and a place to call home-she grabbed his hands between hers and smiled-And do try not to get into everyone's nerves, will you? -.

It was Galahad's turn to chortle. He leaned over and pressed his lips against her brow-I'll try-he promised, voice raw with emotion.

Devnet shook her head, still smiling-And live. Live above all. Ride with the wind and be certain that never again will there be someone to stop you. Laugh like the child you never fully got to be, and love like the man you've always been. And-her voice faltered and she held his hands tighter between her tiny fingers, her knuckles turning white-If you have sons and daughters, which I'm sure you will once you find the right woman willing to stand you for the rest of her life, please, please tell them about me. Tell them my name, what I did...Tell them I existed, all right?-.

Galahad smiled tenderly-You joking? I'll name my first daughter Devnet. You have my word that all of my children shall now who you are, and what you meant to me...sister-.

Tears swelled up in Devnet's eyes and for a flicker instance she considered dropping the whole situation and leaving with her knights after all, but the idea vanished nearly as soon as it had arrived. With a strangled sob, she hugged her friend once more, wishing she'd never had to let go even as she did, and kissed his cheek fondly-You adorable little fool-.

This was when she said her goodbyes, she realized as she let go of Galahad. Her heart clenched into a crumpled fist inside her chest. Even if she had made her decision months ago, she would never be prepare for such a moment.

Like treading on an over-emotional dream, she turned to hug her shaggy Gawain once more, only this time her hug meant goodbye. She struggled to burn the feeling of his long, hard dreadlocks against her cheek inside her memory, every tangle and knot on his unkempt whiskers. Wiping away her tears, she looked at him and found him, as always, smiling at her with twinkling blue eyes.

_"My dear Gawain she thought You have home in your eyes, and joy in your smile. I pray that you never loose neither"._

-You'll take care of him, won't you, Gawain?-she pledged, casting a sideways smile in Galahad's direction-Keep him from doing anything stupid?-.

Gawain chortled, looking over at Galahad and nodding-Aye, I will. Somebody has to-he sighted with resignation-Besides, I don't have much of a choice. I'm stuck with the pup for life. We do, after all, come from the same village. Don't worry, I'll do my best to save him from himself-.

Galahad lifted his arms in protests but said nothing, perhaps too offended to come up with a suitable answer, though a smile could still be perceived behind his eyes.

Devnet giggled slightly, lifting the blond warrior's hand to her lips and kissing his battle-hardened knuckles with fondness-You listen carefully, by the way. About that beautiful sarmatian woman you intend to marry, before so much as smiling in her direction, you think carefully whether if she would be the kind of woman I would approve for you, huh-.

-Of course, I would never dream of marrying someone that might seem unworthy to you, my lady-assured Gawain with fake solemnity.

-Good-Devnet replied rather pompously-Because since I won't be around to keep an eye on you, this woman will have to do so instead, and no common wench is going to take up my place-.

Gawain chuckled, holding her fingers tightly between his, and leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose-No one could take up your place in my heart, Devy. You'll remain my closest friend even after the end of times-he bent slightly so as to match her eye-level, all of sudden turning serious-You better think about what I'd say before looking at any man with marital intentions as well. You deserve only the best, Little One, am I understood?-.

Devnet nodded, laughing and sobbing at the same time-I will, Gawain, I promise. You'll even be proud of the life I'll have-.

The knight smiled and touched her cheek with the ends of his fingers-I already am, stupid-.

Devnet beamed at him and gave him the same last bitter-sweet hug she had given Galahad.

Bors was still scolding when she approached him, but Devnet ignored the man's blood curling frown and threw her arms around his thick neck. The man, too surprised by her reaction, suddenly forgot all his protests, insults and empty threats and for a moment simply stood idle-eyed with his massive arms hanging languidly at his sides.

-I'm sorry-cried the girl, nearly dangling from his bull-neck-I'm so, so sorry. I wish it were different, I really do, but this is what must be done. Please don't be cross with me Bors. I can't do this if you're angry-.

-Then I bloddy well should stay angry!-spat the man, pulling away-Of course I bloody should!-he raised his hands to cup Devnet's face, practically grabbing her whole head, and shook his head-Ah, curse you lass. I cannot hate you-.

Devnet stuck out her lower lip in a pout-Why would you want to hate me? I am nothing but loveable-she replied innocently.

-How convenient, you smart-ass twig-Bors grumbled, releasing her head-If only your "loveliness" were enough to save you from the Saxons-.

Devnet huffed, slightly offended-I have fought them before-.

-And barely came out alive. You're too small, too bloody delicate. They'll kill you easy, lass-.

-You already said that-.

-If you heard me, why don't you desist on this foolishness?-.

Devnet shrugged-I heard you. I just choose to disagree with you, that's all-.

Bors stared at her with narrow eyes for a long time before suddenly bursting into hoarse cackling laughter, pointing at her and shaking his head. His expression was of amusement, but there was, however, a bitter tone to his laughs. Without warning, she crushed her ribs into a bear-hug, knocking the wind out of Devnet's lungs.

-I'll miss you, lass-he spoke hoarsely, going serious-You've been a pain in my arse, but I've come to love you none the less-.

Devnet would've started to cry again, but the lack of air inside her made it rather impossible. When repairing on that fact, Bors quickly let her go, muttering a curse under his breath and apologizing. The tiny woman backed away a few steps and rubbed her chest painfully, gulping for breath, but then smiled sweetly and approached him again.

-Your hugs might be painful, but their worth it, ugly brute-she soothed him fondly, standing on her tiptoes and placing a sonorous kiss on his rough cheek-I'll miss them as much as I'll miss you-.

Bors smiled and rubbed his thumb swiftly over the side of her face, wiping away a few tears-Take care of yourself, Devy-.

She laughed and threw her arms around him once more-You too, Bors-she laughed through the tears before letting her go. Her smile, however, finally quivered when she came in front of Vanora.

Her red-friend didn't bother to hide her sadness and her face was already red from crying. Devnet immediately started sobbing too, and the two friends launched forward in a fierce hug, crying impudently. And mumbling word of comfort to each other, which only increased their tears. The men exchanged glances amongst them and shrugged. A collective thought crossed all their minds at the same time: Women.

After an awful lot of crying, Vanora and Devnet finally broke away, sniffing slightly and trying to wipe away their tears. The looked at each other and laughed a bit, embarrassed by their behaviour.

-Look at the pair us, al red and teary-sighted Devnet, shaking her head and smiling through her tears-We're making a rather ridiculous spectacle, Im afraid-.

Vanora giggled weakly, blowing away a couple of red strands from her face-I don't care. I'll bloody miss you and I'll mope as much as I wish to about it-she declared.

Devnet's heart soared with tenderness and she flung herself over her friend once more-Oh Van! You've been everything to me. A friend, a sister, even a mother-she cried, her voice trembling with emotion. She released her friend and squeezed her hands instead. Van's palm were warm and slightly rough from washing ale-cups, clothes, and they always seemed to carry the smoky smell from the tavern with them. Devnet was certain that she'd never forget the feeling of those motherly hands that had stroked her hair, wiped away her heart-broken tears, and offered the red-head's friendship unconditionally.

-Now you'll have the life you've always dreamed about-she smiled, her eyes glittering with emotion- With your children and the man you love. And you shall all be free-.

Vanora sobbed nosily at her words, nodding repeatedly with a tearful smile-Yes, yes it will! Oh Devy! Sweet Devy! Whatever will I do without you?-.

While they tightly hugged again, Devnet looked over Vanora's shoulders at Bors.

-Take care of her, Bors-she warned, letting go of her friend and pointing a warning finger in the man's direction-This woman's worth entire nations. You better keep her happy. Make her the happiest woman alive. Make so much as a fissure in her heart, and I will know one way or another and I will make you pay, am I understood?-.

Bors smiled humorously, thought something in his eyes hinted that he had no doubt that the small half-woad would definitely keep her word. He nodded, suddenly finding it hard to swallow.

-Good-Devnet turned her attention back to Vanora and cupped her cheek- You're going to be so happy, dear. Im certain of that-.

Vanora looked over her shoulder at her family and her eyes welled up with so much love even Devnet wooed by it. For a moment she wished she too had the opportunity to hold such a gaze, but she dismissed the thought before it became too powerful.

-I know-replied Van, looking back at her-As will you, sweetheart-she placed a motherly kiss on Devnet's forehead-Take care of yourself, will you, darling?-.

Devnet saw that her friend was not only thinking of the upcoming battle. In Van's eyes there was an unbreakable belief that Devnet would survive, and her words were actually meant for the rest of her life. The woman's faith made Devnet fell much more confident about the choice she'd made.

-Thank you, Van-she whispered to her-Thank you for everything-.

Her farewell to the children was even more heart-breaking if possible. She had to kneel in front of them and explain the younger ones what was happening. She told them that they would be going on a very long voyage to a faraway land with their parents, but that she wouldn't be with them anymore because she had to stay here. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done, watching how their dirty little faces paled with comprehension and their eyes welled up in tears. After her explanation was over, all twelve bastards flung their arms around her in a chorus of sobs. The eldest tried not to cry, finding it extremely hard to conceal their grief. The little ones clung to her and sniffed shamelessly. As for Devnet herself, she felt absolutely helpless in such a situation. She could not find comforting words for herself, let alone for little children. She hugged each and every one of them, cuddling them for a moment against her chest and burying her face in their soft hair, breathing in their scent of youth and innocence.

-You'll behave, won't you?-she made them promise, trying to smile to make both them and herself better-Help your momma and your papa? Take care of one another?-.

They swore her repeatedly that they'd be good, while covering her in sloppy kisses and hugs. Devnet kissed foreheads and chubby cheeks, assuring that she would miss them; that she loved them so, so much; that they were the most beautiful children on earth. Finally, she reached out and grabbed little Nine by the wrist, making the girl stand in front of her.

-Now you listen to me, young lady-she told her with a serious, yet comforting expression-You must remember everything I've taught you, you hear me? You promise?-.

Nine's lower lip trembled, but she held her face bravely and nodded-Yes, Devy-she sniffed.

-Remember what I told you about boys?-.

-If they touch me without my permission I chop their fingers off-.

-And your beauty?-.

-First I am beautiful for me, then for the rest-replied the child dutifully.

Devnet smiled between her tears and cupped Nine's cheeks-And gambling?-.

-I must never allow a man to pull me on their lap as a good luck charm, because their biggest fortune is not winning the game, but having my heart-.

A chuckle escaped the half-woad's lips and she felt a lump forming in her throat. Quickly, she pulled the girl to her chest, so that she would not see her cry-I love you so much, my baby girl-she whispered in Nine's ear, trying to keep control over her quivering voice-You're so beautiful and so important. You're going to be an amazing woman, I promise you-.

Nine squeezed Devnet's neck, sobbing on her shoulder, before pulling away and sniffing noisily-Will I ever see you again?-she asked in a weak, tearful tone.

Devnet wiped away the tears trailing down the small face in front of her-Maybe someday, sweetie-.

-You could come and visit us at our new home-Nine suggested hopefully.

Devnet's heart tightened at the light in the little girl's eyes-What a wonderful idea! Perhaps I'll stop by one day-she promised, saying to herself that she'd do everything to try and keep that vow.

By the time she was finally able to untangle herself from the most persistent hugs, the little woman was on the verge of tears once more, and she lost no time in putting a few steps between herself and the children before they made her cry once more.

Devnet breathed deeply, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and pull herself together before reopening her eyes with a weak smile and walking towards Tristan, who had been watching the whole turn of events with hawk-like eyes from his somewhat secluded corner near the horses. The man's expression was nearly dead, giving no hint of what he thought, though for once, his bitter attitude spoke volumes. Devnet lowered her gaze, blushing slightly at the cold, and unsettling stillness of the man's eyes on her.

-I know you must be rather disappointed at me-she mumbled, staring at the ground.

-Fifteen years I've been teaching you how to stay alive only so that you could thrust yourself head-first into the first suicide battle you come across? I damn sure are, woman-the scout replied in a shallow tone, crossing his arms over his chest and standing with his feet spread.

-I know, I know-Devnet rolled her eyes with a slight trace of guilt, hands resting on her hips-Im really sorry that it looks like I'm tossing away all of your teachings-.

Tristan shrugged and rested his back against his horse's flank. He shook his head once to get rid of the lanky strands of hair that kept his face partially hidden, and pierced Devnet with his veiled, hazel eyes for the longest of times. Devnet shifted her weigh uncomfortably from one leg to the other, wishing in vain that for once she could be able to tell what that stoic, seemingly emotionless man was thinking. Out of nothing, Tristan suddenly emited a low, hoarse sound similar to a couple of rocks being rubbed against each other. It took Devnet nearly half a minute to realize the man actually chuckling. Her lips parted in awe and she simply stared at him in confusion.

Tristan shook his head, a rare hint of humour dancing in his eyes and then looked down at her-You're crazy, woman. Godsdamned crazy. But I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't do the same was I in your place-.

Devnet's eyes widened-R-really?-she asked, surprised.

Tristan nodded, momentarily losing his eyes in the distance. He took a deep breath and then his lips twitched in a crooked curve that was the closest thing he had to a smile-You have guts, kid. And you're a better fighter than most men. You'll do just fine. I taught you well-and then, much to the whole world's surprise, he did something that no one had ever seen him do before. He rested his dark, calloused hand over Devnet's pale cheek and run his knuckles gently across it. Such small display of warmth meant some much coming from such a cold, detached man that at that moment Devnet realised how much she actually meant for him. She stood on her tip-toes with a small smile and reached out to touch his face.

-Dear Tristan-she whispered emotionally, caressing the man's cheekbones with tenderness-I hope that wherever you go, you find a life worth living-she paused and added in a whisper-And someone to make you smile more often-.

The scout snorted, the trace of a smile still lingering on his features. With a small nod, he hesitated and then pulled her in a brief, but tight hug. Devnet clung to the feeling of the scout's arms around her, a sensation so unique and rare she was certain that she'd never forget it.

Finally, the young half-woad had to come face to face with the inevitable, since there was no one else left to say goodbye to. She'd left Lancelot for the last not exactly because their relationship was different, but to give his wrath some time to decrease.

When her eyes met the man's, he found them impossibly...normal. Even calm. However, after a second glance, she realized that beneath that apparent stillness a cold, bleak storm thundered and roared in fury. A chill crept down her back and she trembled slightly, but held her face firmly, trying to look confident, yet tender. Taking a deep breath, she decided she might as well start. She knew Lancelot well enough he wouldn't say anything unless she did first.

-I have to do this-.

-If you say so-Lancelot's tone was heart-strikingly flat, as if the man had banished any sort of emotion from within himself.

Devnet pressed her lips together, trying to keep her confidence under the pressure of his cold, pitch black gaze-I really wish it were different-she added with softness.

-Very well-replied the man in the same sharp tone as before.

-If only there was another way-.

-If only indeed...-.

Devnet cursed in her mind, fighting back the urge to burst into tears and yell at him, punching his chest with her child-like fists. Her lower lip trembled from the effort and she clenched her hands tightly at her said, trying to keep her voice under control. She realised a slightly shaky sight and tried to break the ice once more, in little more than a whisper:

-Lancelot, I-.

-I loved you-.

Devnet took a step small step back, blinking as if suddenly the light pained her eyes. A collective, shuddering gasp lifted in the cold morning air as everyone who'd been close enough to hear the dark knight's words leaned forward, eyes wide open and mouth hanging agape. Devnet herself was the most surprised of all. Her gaze was so surprised it seemed almost vacant, fixed yet unseeing on the man in front of her. In truth, she was still trying to guess if he had truly said that or if the grief of her own departure was playing tricks on her mind.

-You what!?-she blurted out in an accidentally off-pitch high tone, barely daring to take a breath.

Lancelot, on the other side, remained impossibly tranquil. His sharp features revealed not his thought, nor a hint of emotion. He appeared to be rather detached from the whole situation even as he took part of it. His attitude was that of a mere spectator, not even amused by the bewildered expressions of those who surrounded him.

-I loved you-he said again, calmly.

-You loved me...-repeated Devnet, still not quite believing her ears. She stared at the ground beneath her feet while ages seemed to roll by around her, but she was unaware of their passing. Finally, the little half-woad apparently came somewhat to terms with what she had just heard, and she dared to look at Arthur's second in command again.

Lancelot met her gaze with a kind of chaotic serenity, eyes as black as obsidian. He nodded once-Since that night you first sat on my lap-he told her without a trace of emotion on his voice, save for a slight, bitter amusement-You were thirteen, and yet you sat so confidently, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you and me. I loved you from that night on-.

Devnet felt the familiar sensation of tears stirring behind her eyelids. Her lips parted in a soundless gasp and her eyes never left the man's. All that time...she'd never believed him hold feelings for her for so long. It seemed somehow unthinkable of Lancelot. Why was he telling her all of that just now? _"Because he no longer has anything to loose"_ the voice of reason inside her replied with sadness.

-Loved?-she was somehow able to keep her voice together, emphasising the past tense he'd used-And now?-.

The man took his time to answer, and all the while Devnet felt like her heart was caught up inside her throat, suspended between one heart-beat and the next, stumbling beside a cliff and about to fall. Then Lancelot's gaze dropped, as did Devnet's hopes. They shattered at her feet, as she predicted his answer.

The man rolled his eyes and sighted, his features cold and expressionless-You can't love someone who's already dead-he replied bluntly.

It hurt more than she'd thought it would. It was like receiving a blow, only that there was no remedy, no herb or drug to kill the pain. It just went on and on forever, stabbing at her heart. His answer echoed inside her mind again and again like a foul nightmare she just couldn't wake up from.

-Dead?-she murmured softly- Is that what I am to you already?-.

Lancelot shrugged-What difference does it make now?-.

Devnet's eyes widened and without thinking, she grabbed the man's jaw with her fingers, forcing him to look at her in the eye. -It makes all the difference in the world!-she cried out, desperately seeking the man she knew beneath that pale, hard armour that were his features.

Lancelot, however, recoiled from her touch as if he was disgusted by it, and he shook his head-It doesn't to me-he answered in a dead tone, finally shattering Devnet's gaze to pieces-Not anymore-.

With that, the dark knight stepped aside and stormed away from the courtyard without any farewell words, or hugs. Not even a last glance. He simply left, leaving a hole somewhere inside Devnet, were she couldn't repair it.

The girl stood fixed on her spot. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes with a shuddering breath, allowing the tears to fall freely down her face. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that everyone else was staring at her with a mixture of surprise and compassion, which made her feel all the more humiliated. Gawain took a hesitant step towards her, but the girl stopped him with a gesture of her hand.

-It's all right-she replied quietly, her voice bitterly tranquil in the morning chill. As fast as it had happened she'd accepted everything in that single instant after Lancelot had left and she'd taken a second to pull her pieces together once more-I suspected it would happen. I took my own risks-.

Sighting again, the woman's hands travelled behind her neck and she carefully unfastened a thin chain around her throat, pulling from the insides of her dress a simple pendant with a bell at the end that jiggled softly. With an almost tender smile, Devnet approached _Vahe's_ saddle and opened one of the bags tied to it. She stared for a second at the tiny bell resting in her palm before dropping it inside the pouch with a sight. She turned to the others again.

-He's going to be angry at first when he finds it-she informed them without further explanations, a weak smile taunting her lips-But you can't let him throw it away. He'll end up being glad to have it, eventually-.

The rest of the morning was little more than a dream to Devnet. She recalled packing her weapons and her battle gear; she remembered saddling Cian and following Guinevere around the fortress while the woad princess made battle plans with Arthur in Merlin's name. But she had no memory of any actual thoughts or feelings crossing her minds during that time, just meaningless blank void. Her body was there but the rest of her had drifted off to wallow shamelessly in misery.

The new caravan, more crowded than the one the knights had escorted from the north, was ready by the time the sun had advanced closer to mid-day. Townspeople, roman legionaries, carts, horses; everyone and everything gathered near the main southern gates of the fortress, making last minute preparations for the long journey to nowhere. Devnet stood somewhat apart, half-hidden beneath _Cian_'s powerful neck. From time to time she stole furtive glances towards the group of sarmatian knights at the other side of the yard. Most smiled and waved, but Lancelot had his back promptly turned towards her. He had refused to even look at her after the incident outside the quarters.

-You do not have to stay if you don't want to-.

Devnet jumped and looked at Arthur who had approached her from behind. The commander was already dressed for battle. His newly polished armour glistered dimly beneath the ill sunlight; his red cape draped over his shoulders with a majestic air. He had his hand on Excalibur, the other rested at his side.

Devnet tilted her head-I _do_ want to stay-.

-So you're not doing this just for my sake?-Arthur seemed somewhere between relieved and surprised.

Devnet crooked and eyebrow-Why Artorius, you're important for me, but not that important-she joked, earning a chuckle from the man's part. It made her feel a little better.

Arthur stepped closer and laid a gloved hand on Devnet's shoulder, bending so as to be at her eye-level and looking straight at her-Promise me you will not put yourself in unnecessary risk-he told her gravely.

Devnet curled her pale little fingers around the man's cheek and smiled with reassurance-Don't worry, dear Arthur. I can take care of myself-.

-I have my doubts about that-.

Devnet made a faint giggle and rolled her eyes-Fine, if it makes you feel better, I promise I won't put myself in unnecessary risk-.

At that moment, Guinevere approached them, leading brown mare by the reins-The people are leaving, and so should we-the woad princess told her cousin.

Devnet nodded stiffly and took a deep breath-Aye, it is time-.

She and Arthur hugged tightly, even though the man's armour nearly crashed her ribs. He then helped her to climb to her saddle before turning to Guinevere and do the same. Devnet watched them interact with a curious little expression, fighting back a smile when Arthur's hand intentionally lingered on Guinevere's thigh for a second longer than it should have.

-Tell Merlin of the plan we've traced, and if he disagrees on something, send a message-the man told them after, steeping away from the horses.

Guinevere grabbed the reins tightly between her knuckled and nodded-Our people will be there-she promised fiercely.

Devnet exchanged glances with her and nodded too, though not feeling so confident herself.

They turned their horses and rode off to join the rest of the caravan. Devnet looked back only once, just before she crossed the gates, and she saw Arthur's figure waving calmly from the courtyard, surrounded by the few braves who had decided to fight for their home.

She rode in silence beside the sarmatian's wagon, taking a bitter-sweet comfort in those last few minutes of road with all the family she'd ever had. The woman exchanged constant glances with the knights, but said nothing because any word would've been unnecessary. Nearly everything had already been said, and what had not, it was because there was no way to put it into words, only a mile from the Wall, the road, which had been running in a parallel line to the stone structure until then, turned south. On the curve, Guinevere was waiting for her cousin just outside the line of the caravan, her face a mask of 's heart knotted as she realized that this was officially in the end of that road for her.

She looked around, finding four knights staring back at her (the fifth of course, refused to even look at her. Their expressions were all different, and yet still the same. In their own manner, some more roguish than others, they displayed the same powerful emotion: Pride. They nodded, encouraging her to continue down her own trail and giving her their blessing for them. Despite the sorrow in her heart at the prospect of parting their ways, Devnet beamed at them, her eyes full of unconditional love. She took a deep breath and rode to meet her cousin.

Guinevere watched her approach with serious, yet soft dark eyes-Ready?-she asked in a cool voice.

Devnet lifted her chin proudly and nodded once, without a hint of hesitation in her voice. She was certain

. -Yes-.

A smile swelled Guinevere's lips-We rode to the woods then. The camp is about a mile away from the tree-line-the woad princess motioned her cousin to follow and rode off, with her cousin at her hills. _Cian_ hadn't covered more than a few steps however, when Devnet suddenly pulled him to a halt and looked over her shoulder back at her knights, for the last time. T

he sarmatian knights of Hadrian's Wall tugged at their horses reins and returned her gaze. Much was exchanged then, beneath that sickly sky. Thoughts, feelings, memories...lifetimes. Slowly, Devnet smiled. Sheading a couple of tears,she lifted her head to them and smiled gently, the wind blowing her long brown hair behind her.

-Farewell, my brave knights, my dear men-she proclaimed proudly-And might good fortune ride with you-.

The wind carried her words to the foreigner warriors that finally returned home. They looked at one another and then moved as one, lifting their fists in the air and proclaiming a single word that englobed everything between them and the little girl that had insisted them on tagging alone on that cold winter morning fifteen years ago:

-RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS!-.

Their war roars echoed throughout the whole plain and into Devnet's heart. The girl closed her eyes, immersing herself in that sole cry of courage. A last, lonely tear escaped out of the corner of her eye. She allowed it to trail down her cheek until it reached her chin, feeling the cold wet trail it left behind. When the tear reached her chin, the young half woad reopened her eyes and whipped it away with a smile.

-Rus indeed-she whispered to herself. She left a kiss at the hands of the wind so it would take it to those it belonged and then sank her heels gently on her horse's sides, galloping off to follow her cousin into the woods.


	23. XIX) The Blue-Faced Demons

**Hey everyone! Here's another chapter for you to enjoy, brought straight from my imagination with love. I hope you guys enjoy it. I want to thank you as always for your patience and your devotion to the story. Don't forget to comment what you think :3 Hope you're all well :) **

_"In the year 61 AD according to Roman records, Suetonius Paulinus marched with his army to the sacred island of Mona, home to the powerful celtic priests known as the Druids. Legends speak of an absolute massacre were all the high sorcerers and their pupils were slaughtered, and every document versed in the ancient magic of the Tuatha de Daan and the Sidhe were lost. Mona became a graveyard of solitude where the wind would forever howl, bringing the cries of a hundred murdered Celts to the mainland. _

_However, it is whispered from father to son and mother to daughter that a sole Druid, were it by chance or fate, had crossed to the mainland the morning before the attack, but his boat lost its way at sea and he ended unconscious in a forgotten beach, were the roman legions could not find him even if they had looked. When the man recovered consciousness, he managed to return to the coastline village of Seguntium, where he was shocked and horrified to hear about the destruction of the sacred druid groves and the slaughter of his brothers. With a heavy heart, the druid knew that he was the last of his order, and that the legacy of druidism rested on his shoulders alone. Knowing he could never be found by the men who had come from the sea, the priest fled north, where the celtic resistance remained strong and the territory unconquered._

_ Shielded by the cloak of night, he crossed the military Wall built by the Romans to protect their conquered territories from the natives of the north; aided by the powers of nature and the blessing of the Gods, for he was the last link between them and their people. The druid lost himself amongst the various tribes of Pictland and nothing more was known of him. _

_However, various decades later, rumours started circulating around the blue fires that somewhere in the Great Forests, there was a man who knew of the old ways of magic that had believed to have been lost during the attack of Mona. Legends of ancient magic and sorcery surrounded this man and his linage, and once again there was faith in the power of the Gods. Generation after generation, the knowledge of the ways of nature and the Gods where passed down, and with them, the old power of Mona seemed to be restored. _

_Thus was the clan of the Myrrdin created. And venerated amongst all Woads stands the last patriarch of the tribe, Merlin ap Gwydion, a man of powers unknown and incomprehensible for most men. Merlin and his grandchildren, Enyak, Guinevere and the half-woad Devnet Allaine, are rumoured to be the last descendants of Myrrdin, the Last Druid". -**Celtic legend, as written down by the descendants of Mona.**_

The Woad camp stood unsuspected in the heart of the forest, concealed from all eyes, were it friend or foe's. When they pulled their horses to a halt as they entered the camp, Devnet was surprised by the amount of warriors that had gathered to join Merlin's main force. Everywhere she looked, both men and women prepared for battle, elaborating arrows and sharpening blades by the fires. It was a chaos of soldiers and blue faces blurred by smoke.

As soon as both of Merlin's granddaughters ventured the camp, leading their mounts by the reins, Devnet sensed the growing wave of murmurs and strange glances casted towards her from every direction. She tried to keep calm, after all she had known that her arrival would cause stirring amongst the Woads. The half-blood woman who fought with the knights of Hadrian's Wall had come to join them. For some, she was a child of Merlin, so they kept their distance and treated her with mute respect. Others concluded that all pair of hands were helpful. But many shot her hostile looks and murmured between them a single word to define her: _"traitor"_. Devnet paid them no mind.

She followed Guinevere to a bonfire somewhat larger than the rest. Around it sat the Council of Elders, preceded by Merlin himself. Guinevere handed over the reins of her mare to a servant and approached the Woad leader, kneeling by his side and kissing his hand.

-Grandfather-she said for all manner of greeting-I have news from Artorius. There are some battle strategies he wished me to discuss with you-.

Merlin smiled, his tanned hand cupping Guinevere's fair cheek for a moment and placing a fatherly kiss on her forehead-It pleases me to hear that, my child-he replied, before his eyes shifted beyond Gwen's shoulder towards Devnet, who remained standing on the outside of the bonfire, holding Cian by the reins.

The rest of the Elders followed his gaze and Devnet found herself under the awkward stare of all the Pictish leaders. She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. A calm, knowing smile appeared on Merlin's features and he nodded only once to her in approval. It felt strangely welcoming, in a way.

-It is good to have you here, my daughter-said the old man.

Devnet felt her cheeks blossom pink, feeling rather self-conscious. Merlin had known all along that she would eventually join the woads, and she had insisted for months now that such would not happen. And yet there she was.

-You were right about me, grandfather. There is more of a woad to me than I suspected-she admitted, holding her head with pride, despite her embarrassment-I will fight with my people, and I will defend my land-.

Satisfaction was plainly written on the old man's face. He nodded once more and the stood up, opening his arms towards her-Come and embrace me, child-.

Devnet hesitated, caught off guard by that unexpected invitation of affection. Feeling all eyes on her, she walked trembling towards her grandfather and allowed Merlin to wrap his arms around her. All in all, it was rather uncomfortable, and the girl felt her face blush even deeper. However, there was also a strange kind of familiarity in the embrace, a peculiar sense of belonging she'd been longing for years without even knowing.

Guinevere wished to discuss the upcoming battle right away but Merlin sent both of his granddaughters off to change into adequate garments, despite Gwen's various protests about how her appearance was hardly important at the moment.

-Actually, he has a point-Devnet whispered to her cousin after she'd calmed down a bit-Nobody's going to take us seriously dressed like a couple of roman ladies-she gave a gentle tug at her own purple skirts.

A reluctant frown wrinkled Gwen's forehead-Maybe-she murmured through gritted teeth, far too proud to admit her mistake openly. They were shown to a rather large camp tent so they could change to their battle gear in peace.

After making sure that Cian was left in good hands, Devnet entered the refuge behind her cousin, carrying her battle clothes inside a bag. When she opened it, however, Gwen frowned deeply and shut her head.

-Oh, no. No, no-she remarked with disapproval, snatching the bag away from Devnet's hand before the half-woad had the chance to ask what was wrong-If you're fighting as a woad, which you undoubtedly are, you must also dress the part. Just as nobody would have taken us seriously dressed as roman ladies, they won't consider you an equal either if you dress like a common Briton under the Romans' service-.

The taller girl turned and bent over a rustic wooden chest, searching its contents. Finally, she pulled out a bundle of clothes and promptly placed them on Devnet's unprepared arms.

-There, this spare clothes of mine should serve-said the woad princess, wearing a satisfied grin-We have more or less the same size of breasts, so that shouldn't be much a problem-.

-No, but your legs are much longer than mine. It won't do any good, I'll just trip all over the place-as if to reinforce her observation, Devnet grabbed the leather tights by the hem and extended them in front of her legs.

Gwen frowned and made a face-Holy Morrigan, you really are small!-she acknowledged with surprise.

Devnet shrugged-Why else do you think Lancelot and Galahad started calling mi "_petite_"?-.

Her cousin stared back at her blankly-I do not know what that word means-she replied coolly-.

Devnet's face fell and she suddenly felt very alone in the world, even though she was in the heart of a war camp full of warrior. She wondered if someone would ever call her "petite" again. The unexpected loss of her nickname left her feeling somehow incomplete. She sighted heavily.

-It means small in...-she shook her head and made a dismissive gesture with her hand-Forget it. It doesn't matter now-.

An awkward silence fell inside the tent. With a sigh, Devnet turned and began to undress herself. After a second of thought, Guinevere shrugged and imitated her cousin. The battle clothes consisted on an upper kind of corsé made of braided leather. Just as Gwen had predicted, it fit Devnet perfectly. It was comfortable to move, and the leather was hard enough to protect her from minor blows, since the Woads rarely used armour. However, they had to cut the leather tights with a knife. All in all the result did not look bad, and Devnet decided she could arrange it after the battle. _"If there is any after". _She slipped various daggers through the loops in the complex leather belt at her waist, as well as hiding one inside her right boot. Tying her hair in a half-tail at the back of her head, she stood on her feet and turned to Gwen, who had just finished collecting her long black locks in a loose mass to keep it away from her face. The woad girl offered Devnet a toothy grin.

-Done-she declared with mirth, before nodding her head towards the exit of the tent-We'd better go before the Council and grandfather become restless. They might look like dear old men, but they most certainly are not-.

Devnet smirked back at her cousin-Dear old men? If I came across them on the road, I would run the other way-.

-Wisely thought-.

Arthur and Guinevere had somehow managed to pull the best of the situation against them in an extraordinary way. Everyone was well aware that they odds did not favour them. Cornered, outnumbered, and lacking a well-trained garrison despite the presence of the woad clans, their forces barely managed to be considered an army. Yet the roman centurion and Devnet's cousin had twisted and maneuverer with whatever little chance they had, and come up with a plan based on wit and deceive. They key was in using their own surroundings to their favour. While the wall was not excessively high, it would take a good half an hour to climb it. The woad scouts sent to spy upon their enemies claimed rather confidently that the Saxons had no ladders nor catapults. Which left the main gates as their only immediate entrance to the southern lands. While that alone was not enough to keep them invaders away, it certainly offered the British forces a certain control over the flow of Saxons that went through the gate.

Then there was the fields beyond the gates and the surrounding forests, where they were currently hiding. At that very moment, Guinevere told them, those villagers who had choose to remain and fight were scattering strategically put bonfires. Their smoke would scatter around the fields, diminishing the Saxons' vision.

-They'll have no clue of where they're going. We, on the other side, do not need to rely so heavily on our sight, since we know this territories by heart. The smoke will conceal us-explained the woad princess as the all sat around a flat stone, faces hovering over a map-We'll scatter our main force throughout the treeline, here and along the one at the other side of the fields. From there we can shoot without been seen, before we charge face to face-Guinevere's finger travelled along the outline of the Wall in the map-Arthur and the townspeople will be hiding along the Wall and surprise the Saxon army from behind, thus leaving them completely cornered, with us at one end and Artorius's men and the Wall at the other-.

The woad leaders studied the map as she spoke, nodding and discussing amongst themselves.

-It seems like a good strategy-commented one of the Elders, a man of lanky features and hawk-like eyes-But will our forces be enough against the Saxons? Cornered or not, they outnumber us-.

Many others muttered in agreement. Guinevere rose a hand to quiet the rumours before continuing with a confident smile-Wait, let me finish-she leaned over the map once more and traced an invisible line right across the middle of the plain-There was some oil stacked in the Romans' cellars. Arthur is making his men dig a trench long enough to cut the field in half. We'll spill the oil there and then conceal it with hay and grass. When the Saxons army spreads across the plain, we shall light our arrows and aim them not only at their warrior, but also at the pit. This will cause a wall of fire to rise right across the middle of the plain, leaving a portion of our enemies at either side-.

A wave of excitement swept thought Merlin and his men. Devnet was utterly impressed at the simple brilliance of the plan. The lost cause they had been fighting for moments before did not seem so lost after all now.

-Divide and conquer-grinned Enyak, resting a hand on Guinevere's shoulder-Your plan is truly outstanding, sister. With this, we definitely have a chance of victory-.

Much to Devnet's amusement, Guinevere blushed at bright shade of pink-It was not only my plan-she admitted through gritted teeth, looking quite embarrassed-Arthur came up with most of it-.

Fighting back a smirk, Merlin nodded. His hand clutching his staff, he took a step forwards to take control of the map-Guinevere and Devnet will take the west flank. Enyak will lead the attack from the right. Once the Saxon's are close enough, we can bring in the catapults to the hilltops above the fields and fire from there without the risk of being overthrown. I'll command the catapults myself-.

The other Pictish leaders seemed to agree without repairs.

-We should send word back to Artorius to inform him of this decisions-one of them suggested. Merlin nodded.

-Aye. Send a messenger back to the Wall. I also want every one of you to inform your folk about our strategy. If we want to triumph at this, we cannot have anyone wandering around without a clue of what to do, am I understood? Good. Prepare for battle. Spread the orders-.

One of the most important parts of a battle in the Pictish culture was the previous ritual of painting blue designs on their skin. Everyone was given a small wooden bowl filled with blue paint to adorn their arms and face with the military tattoos that were meant to intimidate their enemies. Devnet took hers with shaky hands. She'd painted herself only once before, as a child, and it had been more like a game during those rare visits she and her father made to the Woads. But now she was very self-conscious about what she was doing. It was not simple smearing her face in blue paint. There were a series of symbols with a specific variety of meanings, depending on the form of the trace and the spot of her skin she drew them on. It was a solemn, spiritual ceremony, and for her, it was a rite of passage to the ancient culture of her mother.

The memory of Aine stirred and idea inside her head. She hurried back to the tent and emerged with her bow and arrows, and a long bundle of pelts wrapped with leather strings under one arm. Without catching attention, she retrieved her bowl of paint and quietly walked off into the woods. Her destiny was not far.

It was a tiny glade near the local cemetery. A perky little crook twisted between the rocks, lazily trailing across a set of small waterfalls and shallow pools. On the far end of the little glade grew a very old ash tree, its limbs wrinkled and twisted like the hands of a fragile old man. At its roots rose to graves covered in grass. There was a sword sank in the earth atop of one, and the skeleton of a bush growing from the other. Beneath them, side by side, laid Aine of the Woads, priestess of Flidais and daughter of Merlin; and her husband, Aynor of Sarmatia. Clutching her bowl in one hand and holding the wrap of pelts tightly against her chest with the other, Devnet took a deep breath and knelt between the graves of her parents.

-I'm sorry it's been such a long time since my last visit-she greeted them tenderly, a sheepish smile playing in her tone-Life always seemed to get in the way, you know? Strange enough, it's at this hour of trial that I have finally found a moment of peace to come here-.

She paused and ran her fingers over the hilt of her father's sword. It was a powerful, yet very slim blade, dotted with a sort of gracefulness. Rust now covered the metal; but she could still make out the golden shine of the hilt, shaped into the form of the upper part of a Stallion standing on his hind legs, reaching for the sky. There was an ancient inscription beneath it; but not even her father had known what it meant exactly because the sword was old and the language long lost. Her mother's bared no weapon. As a priestess of the goddess Flidais; lady of the forest and all wild things, Aine had kept peace and professed love to nature and the spirits of magic. Violence had never been part of her being. So instead; a beautiful bush of wild roses had grown above her remains. It was not flowered due to the season; but in spring it was covered in cherry red blossoms with a sweet, velvety smell.

-I have come into my legacy at last-Devnet continued after some time, whispering to the tombs at either side-Now I understand. I am not half one thing and half another, but both fully Woad and fully Sarmatian at the same time. They're totally complete sides living within me, joined as one...as were you-.

A cold trace of wind brought her the smell of smoke from the fields, and made her skin prickle. Devnet sighed.

-We're on the verge of battle-she told her parents in a tight voice. She bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes to the weapons that rested on her lap-Perhaps one of the biggest of our history. And while to many hope is the last thing to be lost, we are aware that the odss are against us-her grip tightened around her bow-And yet we will fight for what's rightfully ours: this land, our land, and our freedom-.

The glade was silent save for the sounds of the woods around her. A branch snapped somewhere in the forest as a bird rose in the sky. The trees rustled with the voices of nature, whispering secrets to the wind in a language Devnet could not understand. _"The Gods are listening"_ she thought in awe. As were her parents, of that she was sure. She could feel them, just beyond the edge that separated this world from the other. Encouraged by the warmth of their assurance, she pursed on:

-For the first time in centuries, this lands have joined under the command of a single leader: Arthur-Devnet could imagine perfectly well the grin on her father's face at those words-You would be so pleased with him, dada-she replied, her tone quivering for an instance. She swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing-It is amazing, this figure he has become. Just, wise, brave, tolerant. Should victory be our, I am certain that Arthur could be the one to lead us to a Golden Age like no other, uniting this territories into one whole kingdom, with him on the throne. Oh, what and extraordinary king he would make!-.

A smile crossed her lips at such ideas. It would be a bright future to hold on to when she was out there in the battlefield. A land of peace, of flourishing, of laughter and wisdom. The sun finally shining through the clouds after such long decades spent in wars. Yes, it was something worth fighting for. Which reminded her of her original purpose there.

Taking a deep breath, she took her bow and quiver and offered it to the tree and the Gods themselves, bowing until her nose touched the grass.

-_"Hear me I pray, Great Mother Danu. I call upon thee, and the Dagda, our Great Father, to ask for thy blessing at this hour of doom. I pray before the sacred tree to the gods and goddesses of war. I cry to the three sisters: the Great Queen Morrigan, wife of our Great Father Dagda. And Babd Catha, the fury and lady of the cauldron. And Macha, the battle and Queen of the Phantoms. Bless me with thy power, thy cunning and thy courage. _

_To Neit I pray for strength in battle, to Nemain I ask to fill my enemies with panic. And to thee, Mighty Nuada, once King of the Tuatha de Danaan, extended thy silver hand upon my brow and honour me with thy grace and blessing, for I am your faithful warrior, and thy name shall echo in my war cries. _

_Keepers of the Underworld, I ask my voice to be carried to your domains and to my ancestors' ears: My mother, Aine daughter of Merlin, priestess of our Lady of the Woods. My father, mighty Aynor of Sarmatia"_-.

Devnet paused to gather her breath. Her whole body trembled with the powerful force of the deities that answered to her prayers and to those of a thousand other woads along the battle lines. A God's attention was such and immense force that it kept her on her knees and filled her mind with a great, blinding light. With a trembling effort she lifted her bow weapons:

-_I ask of thee all: Bless my bow and bestow strength upon its string, so that it might be strong and swift! Bless my arrows and guide them to my foes, so that they might trouble me no more!_-.

After that, she laid the bow and quiver aside and grabbed the leather bundle. With an almost reverential care, she pulled away the folds and uncovered a long blade, slimmer than most and bestowed with a kind of deadly elegance. Biting at her bottom lip, Devnet lifted the sword above her head and cried:

-_Bless my sword! So that it might cut true and justly in times of need!_-and then her voice faltered and she had to close her eyes to hold back the pang of sorrow that assaulted her heart. When the young woman spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper, and the Gods had to strain their ears to hear her words:

-_And bless the man who had this sword made, so that he might safely find the road back home_-.

Devnet didn't dare to speak the name out loud, but the Gods hear it none the less because it echoed restlessly inside her head. And in that instant they learned the story behind the sword that had never been used, because what Devnet quieted, her heart spoke for her.

By the age of fifteen, Devnet was nearly as deadly as any other of Artorius's men. Under Tristan's stern instruction, she had mastered the bow, as well as various fighting styled involving knives and daggers. However, there was a certain impracticality about having the bow as weapon of choice. While it was an excellent mean to defeat an opponent without putting one's self in harm's way, when it came to those inevitable cases of face-to-face combat, it was rather uncomfortable to wield and arrow against a sword. That thought had never left Lancelot's mind since that day Devnet had tried to use his blades to subdue a prisoner, and instead ended up in the infirmary with no prisoner and no swords either. The girl _had_ to learn to use a sword.

The real problem, however, had not been ability, but size. Devnet being so petite in physical complexion just wouldn't do. No matter if she trained and exercised to the point exhaustion, there was only a certain amount of muscle and strength she could develop. And even at her finest, Devnet still remained, unfortunately, far too small to wield a sword, even a short one. So while Devnet had been training restlessly to master a weapon that would apparently take her nowhere, the knight had visited the smithy and spent nearly a month designing with the smith's help a sword adequate for the woman's body. The result had been that incredibly light double-edged small sword that Devnet was now offering to the Gods for blessing.

The blade was considerably thinner than the usual, but that proved an advantage for Devnet since it allowed her to move quicker than usual, aided by her small body, and thrust her sword through gaps a normal one could've never perforate. The hilt too was very slim, almost delicate, to adapt to her little hand's grip. And as a personal detail Lancelot had asked the smith to carve the triple wave that adorned Devnet's ankle at the end of the hilt.

The limbs of the ash extended above her reflected on the silvery blade when Devnet lowered it to the ground. She rested the sword on her lap and stared at it intendedly for a few minutes, running her fingers gently over the hilt. She had never used it, even though she knew perfectly well how to do it. But now, if she was going to face death at the upcoming battle, she wanted to face it with that weapon that was both celtic and sarmatian.

Suddenly, her finger slipped through the blade and the edge opened a small wound in her skin. Devnet gasped sharply as thick rivulets of blood oozed from her fingertip an on to the sword. The sight of her blood against the metal reminded her of an old sarmatian ritual, and out of an impulse, she lifted the sword and sank it in the earth with a powerful thrust. Her blood trailed down the hilt, warm and sticky against the iron. Sarmatians worshipped different Gods, but Devnet often confused them. Her father had thought it would be easier for her to stick to the celtic Gods, since they were much more tangible for her giving their life in Britain. She did remember that Sarmatians linked the sword to the wind. Apparently they saw the wind as the force that gave breath and therefor life to everything on earth; which would make the sword its counterpart. Devnet wasn't sure whether if they worshipped a deity symbolized by the sword or the sword itself, but considering her current situation, she thought that it was better to get all the help she could, independent of where it came from.

Hand stinging, she let go of the hilt and attempted to wipe the blood in the grass, though the bleeding did not stop. She then grabbed the nearly forgotten bowl of blue paint and rested it on her lap. She could see the shadow of her reflection in the oily surface of the paint right before she sank the fingers of her unwounded hand in it.

The substance was cold and pasty to the touch. The woman closed her eyes and took a moment to gather her spirit and place it in the Gods' hand, trusting they would harden and protect it for battle. With a sigh, she took her fingers to her cheek and began to recite her prayers:

"_Shield and Safeguard Us Valiant Nuada of the white sword,_

_ Who subdued the Firbolg of blood,_

_ For love of the Tribe, __for pains of Danu's children,_

_Hold thy shield over us, protect us all, _

_Hold thy shield over us, protect us all. _

_Danu beloved! Mother of the Shining Ones, _

_Shield, oh shield us, Lady of nobleness,_

_ And Brigit the beauteous, shepherdess of the flocks,_

_Safeguard thou our animals, encircle us together, _

_Safeguard thou our animals, encircle us together_."

One of the most important symbols for a warrior was the _ken_ rune. Devnet traced the arrow-pointed symbol at the base of her neck with great care, for it represented her bond to the war Gods during the upcoming battle. Her strength depended upon it. Next, she drew various shield knots around her wrists and forearms, and above her chest. All the time she continued her solemn chanting; summoning the divine ones to her aid.

_"And Ellen, beneficent, benign,_

_ Governess of the trackways of power, _

_Invoke the star of power upon the path, _

_Guide well thou ourselves, shield our procession, _

_Guide well thou ourselves, shield our procession. _

_O Mother! O Maiden! O Crone of Wisdom! _

_Be the Triad with us day and night,_

_ On the machair plain or on the mountain ridge, _

_Be the Triad with us and her cloak around us, _

_Be the Triad with us and her cloak around us. " -**(Prayer of celtic origin)**_

Devnet rubbed the rest of the blue woad paint on her arms, forehead and collarbone. When she leaned over the crook to contemplate her reflection on the surface her heart jumped in surprise. Staring back at her was the face of a true Pict, blue, wild and savage. She resembled those "blue demons" the knights had so offended cursed and fought against them. A reaping sensation stirred inside her chest and she had to struggle with all her will to hold it back.

-I belong here. This is my land. This is who I am- she reminded herself sternly, speaking out loud to the reflection in the water.

_"This is who I am"_.

When she returned to the camp, she found only Merlin and Guinevere sitting by the ashes of the bonfire.

-Where is Enyak?-she inquired curiously as she joined them, sitting cross legged besides her cousin.

Guinevere stretched her arms lazily in front of her. Her skin was tinted in blue as well, with similar symbols as the ones Devnet had-Down the treeline. He's already gathering the battalions-she replied-I was waiting for you before joining him. Where have you been?-.

-I wanted to visit my parents' graves before the battle began-.

A small smile appeared between the tangles of Merlin's beard-And did their spirits answer your prayers, child?-.

Devnet shrugged-I hope so. We'll have to wait and see-.

The old man eyes her intensely for an instance and suddenly he jerked his hand and gently grabbed Devnet's chin, turning her face towards him-You have changed, my daughter, and in an extraordinary short period of time. The past events have brought you to our side in a way you have never been before-.

Devnet swallowed uncomfortably, but herself unable to remove her eyes from her grandfather. Something so immense and unknown hid behind that gaze, a knowledge so vast that it sent shivers down her spine. Merlin ran an affectionate thumb over the tattoos on her cheekbones before releasing her from his grip.

-You have done well, my child-he concluded with a satisfied grin-The blue on your skin marks you as one of us, and now nobody can deny that you are as much my heir as your cousins are-he reached out and patted Guinevere's hand. The woad girl smiled widely at Devnet too.

Devnet felt herself blush beneath the blue paint, but a shy, beaming smile crept over her features-Thank you, _Athair Críonna_-she managed to whisper fondly, her tone quivering slightly. T

he emotional moment was broken by the sound of storming feet rushing towards them moments before Enyak merged from the trees along with two fellow woads. Merlin's grandson dropped to one knee in front of his elder before turning to face Devnet, much to her own surprise. Enyak's breath was wild from the race and his eyes glimmered with an odd pang of excitement.

-Devnet-he spoke in an agitated tone-You've better come to forest border. _Now_-.

**PS: I jus wanted to say that the celtic legend about the the last druid is a fragment of my imagination based on the real attack to the land. See you in the next chapter!**


	24. XX) A Battle of My Choosing

**Hey everyone ! I'm here with a brand new chapter that I hope you enjoy as the stroy aproaches towards the climax (I'm so excited and so scared at the same time) As always I hope that you vote and comment your thoughts on the chapter. Anyways, here's the chapter, enjoy ! And thank-you so much for sticking around this long.**

The road was muddy and the fog low, making the caravan's march slow and quite miserable. The knight's rode in pairs, immersed in their own silence, uncertainty, and guilt. Because no matter how much they repeated over and over in their heads that they had done the right thing, that they deserved the opportunity of walking away from this fight, none of the sarmatians could shake of the feeling that they were somehow not walking away from a doomed battle, but from their friends in need. Guilt weighted heavily on their shoulders, like the shadow of a dark cloud that promised rain. Their mood was transmitted to those around them, so that Vanora and the children, who travelled aboard a wagon behind them were strangely quiet, immersed in their own kind of melancholy.

Though his pale face and dark eyes gave nothing away, on the inside Lancelot was chaos. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about Arthur facing the Saxons on his own, without his best friend, his right hand to help him. It was impossible, the man simply didn't know how to take care of himself. He was, after all, a thick-headed, gullible, altruist utter fool. Over and over again Lancelot thought of all the possible mistakes Arthur could commit that would eventually lead him to suicide. Agreeing to a truce with those treacherous pirate rats, sparing some Saxon's life out of compassion and formerly being stabbed in the back, the possibilities were infinite, a and without Lancelot's guide, Arthur would surely commit one of them.

And he didn't even want to get started on Devnet. Fuck, what had the stupid little twat been thinking anyway!? She was so small, so delicate, so damn fragile, that petite of his. He could see her in his mind, fighting with that useless bow against the Saxons' armour, while she wore none! Damn woads barely wore iron to battle. Oh, and Lancelot would've betted his own good looks that the little idiot hadn't even taken the sword he'd forged for her. She never did, no matter how much he insisted on it. She never listened! Now probably some Viking bastard would be smacking her head with a maze all the way to Hibernia.

_"They brought it upon themselves, the pair of bloody damn idiots"_ the knight thought gloomily.

Opposite to those thoughts, the rest of Badon's inhabitants, the roman legions, the bishop's escort and all the other souls that shared their journey were dominated by the urgency of saving their own lives by putting as much distance between themselves and the Saxon. They had little regrets regarding the abandonment of their home, as long as they got to live to see another sunrise.

The smoke from the fires the villagers had lit across the fields accompanied their ride as the caravan advanced with hasty pace down the main roman highway, further and further away from the battle. At first the sound was nothing but a murmur, but as it got louder and louder, the knights' well-trained ears realised it was no fragment of their imagination, but the steady, threatening rhythm that had already chased them during their mission north of the Wall. With sudden, hysterical shrieks, their horses pulled up on their hind legs, shaking their heads violently and backing away from the road, trying to flee. The knights were taken by surprised, since their mounts were well-trained warhorses that did not normally panic even in the heat of battle, but the chilling sound of the Saxon drums seemed to exude a particular wave of cruelty and fear, carving deep inside the hearts of every living thing. Though skilled riders by nature, it took the Sarmatians a few minutes to calm the nervous pacing of their mounts. The animals neighed and grunted, resisting the will of the reins despite their masters soothing words and pats.

Finally the distressed animals quietened and stayed still, their ears flitching nervously in every direction, still aware of the rumours of the war drums in the distance. A profound silence followed then, a silence that weighed with the force of a change of heart and held its breath in suspense. As if awakening from a slumber, the men raised their gaze from the animals they'd been trying to calm as a sudden realization hit them with the force of the gods' will. When their eyes met, they saw the same grave expressions in each other's faces. The face of man to which everything he did not understood suddenly became as clear as water. They knew they were all thinking the same. They were thinking of fifteen years of friendship, of risking their lives side by side. In all those years, not one of them had walked out on the other, or left someone else behind. Until now?

A faint sound caught Lancelot's ear. Distinct to the foreshadowing beat of the drums, this sound was piping, almost merry. It stirred something in the man's memory, though he could not quite grasp the thought before it slipped from his mind again. But the sound was still there, a faint, perky jingling that seemed to come from somewhere inside his saddle bags. Holding the reins in one hand, the knight open the nearest pouch with the other and blindly searched inside, struggling to find the source of the noise. Once again he heard it, that soft tinkle that he did not know where it came, that somehow got into his nerve...like the sound of a bell. Clenching his jaw tightly, he pulled out his fist clutched around a little silver chain he easily recognized. From it, dangled a tiny bell. An angel caller. _Her_ angel caller.

_"But should you ever be in trouble, you can ring that bell, and I will come to your aid. Always"._

Of course, that sneaky and manipulating little rascal. He ought to have expected a movement like that from her. The gods knew he wanted to be mad at her, but something much more important stormed over his indignation, a feeling much more rooted into his soul, no matter how hard he tried to rip it away.

Lancelot suddenly found himself as the target of his fellow knights' gaze. With a heavy sigh, he realized that he was still the second in command, the First Knight. And as such, when the commander was gone, he was the one in charge. Even now. Specially now. Though they were free to do their own thing, the men still thought themselves as part of a group, connected by strong bonds of brotherhood, and they were looking at him for lead. The weight of such responsibility was heavy on his broad shoulders, and like a stallion unaccustomed to the weight of a rider on its' back, he did not like it. But just like said stallion, had been built for it. But how to choose between that freedom they had longed for their whole lives, and those two friends that had vowed to protect them and to love them from the very first day?

With a sigh, he took turned to stare at each knight in the eye as he had seen Arthur do so many times before making a decision. Technically each knight's decision was their own, but Lancelot knew that if one stayed, then all would, not out of habit nor obedience, but for a mere question of loyalty and friendship. The men stared back at him uncertainly at first, with remorse written clearly on their face. But then their gaze lingered on the little pendant in his hand which they knew very well and some of them wondered if Devnet had put it there not only for Lancelot, but for all of them, as if foreseeing this situation. The more they stared at it, the more their expressions changed from reluctance to discernment.

Suddenly, Tristan turned to the hawk that rested on his wrist. He's eyes, as usual when it came to bird, became softer, if such word was appropriate to describe Tristan. He clicked his tongue.

-Hey-he mumbled, nodding towards the bird-You're free-.

He lifted his fist in the air like he had done so many times and the hawk took flight with a powerful flap of his wings, rising towards the vast skies. In silence, the rest of the knights watched it disappear between the clouds of smoke, taken aback. That hawk had been the only proof that Tristan was actually capable of feeling affection, and the fact that he was letting it go somehow symbolized a deep sacrifice to them. They all had things to look forward to: independence, land, loved ones.

_"You're free"_ Tristan had told the bird. Free to leave, yes...but also to stay. All this years, they had been nothing but mercenaries, Rome's barbarian dogs. But they'd never had the chance to prove themselves a true warriors with their own will...What sort of warrior left their friends in the hour of peril?

Bors looked over his shoulder at his family, waiting in their wagon by the side of the road while the rest of the caravan carried on with their journey. Bors was perhaps the most conflicted. He had a woman, and many children, all of whom he loved deeply. But he did not want to be the man that walked out on his companions, his family deserved a better figure. When his eyes met Vanora's, he saw comprehension in the red-head's face. He had to go, it was the right thing. It was what he wanted deep inside, and letting him go was Van's own way of aiding Devnet and Arthur

_"Go"_ her eye spoke for her _"You must"_.

The little bastards, clustered inside the wagon, peeked through the bars to look at their father. They were only children, new to the world, filled with innocence. But they knew as well. With a solemn little face, tiny boy Gilly slowly opened his palm and waved goodbye.

Though he would not show it, Lancelot felt moved. Nodding with a mixture of pride and respect towards his friend, he lastly turned to Gawain and Galahad, but there was hardly anything to consider. The two friends looked at each other and then back at Lancelot, a small, crooked smile creeping over their roughish features. Lancelot nodded once more. He looked at the sky, where the hawk had disappeared, one more time, sighted and then patted his horse, as a grin started to slowly curve the sides of his mouth.

Yes, it was decided.

The smiles on the knights' faces grew broader. Dismounting from their horses, they moved towards the back of the wagon, where they'd stored the rest of their battle gear, along with a huge lump covered by a mantle. From a corner, you could see a piece of armour. An armour of sarmatian steel.

The Saxon was not going to yield, Arthur knew that now. Despite the clear odds, when the young roman had seen the Saxon leader weaving a white flag he had hoped that perhaps there was still a chance of avoiding blood-spill. But the Northman's intention had not been a truce, but a threat. An attempt to make Arthur bow down to him, something the roman commander would never do. And thus it was decided that the outcome would be battle. But Arthur was certain that he had managed to at least impose some sort of intimidating impression on the Saxon leader. As Julius Caesar had said once:

_"The dice is cast"._

Back on the hilltop, he took a deep breathe. From a distance, he was nothing but a tiny figure, a lone rider with the intention of inspiring hundreds of warriors. And while the woads in the nearby forest were filled with admiration for his bravery, on the inside Arthur felt alone. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was not used to fighting alone. The echo of galloping hooves drove him out of his lonely thoughts, startling him. _Iustitia_ stirred beneath him, her ear twitching back and forth with recognition. Frowning, he looked over his shoulder, and a smile slowly began to creep over his face when he saw his best friend riding up the hill towards him.

Something about Lancelot seemed different, and as he neared, Arthur realized that the man was not wearing his usual armour. It was black, and much more elaborated, with a thick scaled breastplate over the chainmail. Lancelot's slick black curls were hidden beneath a magnificent spangenhelm with a long black lock of horse hair flowing behind him. In his hand he held what appeared to be a spare. Vahe was too covered in magnificent cloak of scaled iron as well as an iron shaffron to protect the animal's head, ornamented with a pair of iron pikes resembling unicorn horns. The whole piece had a certain resemble to Arthur's own equipment, but there was a sort of magnificent exotic fierceness air around it that clearly marked it as foreigner to the Roman Empire. It could only be the armour worn by the powerful horse-lords of the East, the armour of a true sarmatian warrior.

Lancelot pulled his horse to a stop right beside Arthur's, with such casualness like if he'd always been there in first place. When he turned to look at his friend, his eyebrows jumped with amusement and he shrugged with the shadow of a crooked smile that said he hadn't been able to help himself, before facing the battlefield before them with mild intrest. T

he sound of more hooves echoed behind them. Arthur looked back once more and saw the rest of the knights galloping up-hill, formed in a single horizontal line. They took their places side by side the other two, all dressed and prepared for battle. While they had the same general characteristics of scaled iron protecting both man and horse, the knight's armours were somewhat distinctive from the other, reflecting their origin from the different tribes included amongst the sarmatians. While Galahad had a small, silver spangenhelm with no decorations, Gawain's had a cloak of scaled chainmail falling to his shoulders. Bors and Tristan's helmets were made of hard leather, and the late one's end were standing upward in point. But they all, Arthur included, carried ornamental spares that ended in the figure of a polished horse head in armour, the iron snouts wide open in a war cry, with long pennants wavering in the wind behind them.

Arthur looked at each of his knights in the eye, unable to keep his solemn smile from breaking into a fully pleased grin. They each nodded in return, showing their support to his cause with sincere grins beneath their wild beards or hardened cheekbones. Even Tristan's eyes glimmered with the hint of what might have been considered a cold smile in the face of a normal person. They were here, his knights, his friends, his brothers. On the inside, Arthur sighted with relief. Though he wouldn't have backed down from his decision under no circumstance, he had to admit that he had felt unsure of achieving this trial alone, but instead of commenting it so to his men, he lifted an eyebrow at them.

-What kept you?-.

Bors snorted and shrugged-Couldn't find the right hill-he replied with fake graveness.

-Thankfully, your misery stands out like a beacon on the dark-added Galahad-A lone, pathetic man standing at the top of a hill is hard to miss-.

-We took pity in you and decided we might as well give you a hand-Lancelot winked, smirking-You clearly don't stand a chance without us-.

Arthur rolled his eyes-It pleases me to know my misery at least was strong enough to move you lot-.

The group burst into laughter, the kind so loud and so real that it scared away the fear and reaffirms the bonds of brotherhood.

-So-said Gawain, leaning on his saddle an struggling to look around in search of something elusive-Where's our devilish petite?-.

A soft grin appeared on Arthur's face and his eyes shone with a fiery light of pride-Oh, I'm sure she already knows you're here-he replied gently, looking towards the forests below, where a small, young woman had just gasped after her cousins had dragged her from the very heart of the forest to the treeline, from where she stared at the figure of the knights with tears in her eyes.

-I feared you wouldn't show up-Arthur confessed to Lancelot as they stared in the direction of the tress that kept the woad forces from sigh. Though his tone was as firm as ever, the dark knight could detected a note of vulnerability in it, and a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

-I guess some of your sickening nobility finally rubbed off on me-he replied mockingly, making Arthur chuckle.

-I thought you considered nobility a really bad idea-he recalled.

His friend sniggered-Please, Arthur, who do you think I am?! A man redeemed?! I can assure that I still think it's completely idiotic-he shrugged. His black eyes gave Arthur a pointed look before adding in a low voice so that only the roman could hear his words:

-But at least it is what I have chosen for myself-.


	25. XXI) The First Advance

**The moment of truth has come, the beginning of the end, the lightning that precedes the thunder... well you understand.I know I never get tired of repeating this, but there's so little left! If all goes well and I don't have to divide chapters, we are no more than three chapters from the end,and the epilogue. Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps. **

**As always, do not forget to leave your votes and reviews. They really make my the chapter and thank you so much for your constant support!**

-Are you going up there to meet them?-Guinevere's voice snapped Devnet out of her dazed state, making her blink repeatedly and avert her eyes from the figures of the knights on the hilltops to her cousin. Gwen smirked widely at her-You can go if you want to, I can manage the warrior on my own for a while-.

When Enyak had dragged both of them to the edge of the forest and Devnet had seen the knights had returned, the feeling that had struck her had been something she would never be able to define in a sole word. The idea was so tempting it pained her heart, but Devnet knew that there were more important things to focus on, and she wouldn't be able to lead and attack without a cold head.

-No-the little half-woad replied with conviction. She eyes the scene at the hilltop one more time before turning to Gwen, a half smile on her face-My place is here, with our people. Besides, it's better to half something to look forward to after the battle-.

Guinevere had to admit that Devnet's words surprised her. She had expected her cousin to rush uphill the minute they'd seen the knights at the top of the hill with Arthur. All these years Devnet had spoken of them as if they were her only real family. A guilty pang of joy scurried through Gwen's veins when Devnet had refused. She was starting to like having her cousin around. Enyak seemed unamused, though he did smirk for just a fleeting second, so fast that Guinevere almost thought she'd imagined it.

-Speaking of places, shouldn't you be at the other side of the field with your men by now?-the tall woad girl crooked an eyebrow at her brother.

Enyak snorted and then bowed mockingly at the two women in front of him-Won't bother you with my presence in that case-he replied sarcastically, starting to walk backwards, towards the open field-Cousin, sister...I'll see you after our nice little fight with the Saxon-.

The man winked sardonically, making them laugh, before disappearing between the smoke. The two girls watched him part with the mild fear for his safety. Neither doubted Merlin's eldest grandson's ability in battle, but their ties of family stirred uneasiness in their hearts nonetheless, even in Devnet, who was not as close to Enyak as his own sister.

From the other side of the wall, they could hear the Saxon warning drums again, but this time, beneath the beat, the women and their warriors could also just distinguish the echo of an army of footsteps aproaching.

Guinevere fingered the feather of an arrow she held loosely in one hand, looking at her cousin out of the corner of her dark eyes-Prepared for battle?-.

Devnet closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the smoky air before opening them again-Ready as I'll ever be, cous-.

From the top of the hill, Arthur and his knights saw a small part of the Saxon army part from the death and advance towards the Wall gate, hitting their round shields with their spares to the chorus of their war cries.

Arthur sank his spare in the earth and rode his mare a few steps forward to stand before his men. There was a fierce green fire in eyes, and his jaw was set cold and proudly. When his spoke, his tone was stern, clear and fearless. It was the voice of a natural leader, and as a leader, he knew exactly what to say to motivate his men.

-Knights! The gift of freedom is yours by right!- he proclaimed fiercely, pacing back and forth in front of the others-But the home that we seek resides not in some distant land-he clenched his fist in front of his face to put more strength in his words-IT'S IN US AND IN OUR ACTIONS ON THIS DAY!-.

His men nodded, encouraged by his speech. -And if this be our destiny-the commander continued, his voice ever challenging the odds-So be it. But let history remember that as free men ... We chose to make it so!-he turned his horse to face the battlefield once more and Excalibur, lifting it above his head. The men's cry cut through the air like blow, a unanimous voice with the strength of a thunderstorm, unyielding, unafraid, and unbent:

-¡RUUUUUUUS!-.

Tristan drew his bow, an arrow at its string, even though no one had told him to do so. He traced a line in the horizon before the astonished looks of his brothers-at-arms, who could not figure out his intention, since shooting at the advancing Saxon squadron would be fruitless. Suddenly, he realized the arrow with a look of absolute certainty in his target, but much to the knights' surprise, he did not direct it to the Saxons, but to a large, lone tree towering beyond the Wall. In awe, the men watched the arrow get lost between the foliage, and seconds later a figure dropped limply to the ground, and never rose. A spy? Perhaps they would never know, just as they would probably never be able to explain to themselves how Tristan had spotted him from such a distance.

With powerful cries, Arthur and his knights broke off into a gallop downhill, side by side. Behind them, six ornamental war-spares stood erected on the ground, the horses at its heads facing the soon-to-be battlefield, like witnesses of the Gods, like testimony of warriors.

A few minutes after Enyak had left, a messenger arrived from the main camp, carrying new orders from Merlin.

-Merlin has spoken with Arthur. The arrival of his knights has slightly changed the plans. The Saxons are not attacking at once. They're sending a smaller advance first. It isn't worth risking our numbers yet. Your orders are only to shoot from the here. With the help of the smoke, it will help to confuse our enemy, as planned. But Artorius and his men will charge them face to face in a series of short attacks on horseback. Merlin has ordered that we remain here-.

Gwen and Devnet exchanged glances and shrugged at the same time. They trusted that their grandfather would know what was best.

In the distance, they heard the deep, groaning sound of the wall gates been opened. Devnet tensed. The whole world seemed to slow around her and fade. The cold, familiar thrilling rage of fear and excitement that took a hold of her in battle made her straighten up in alert. Her body became an extension of the bow in her hand as she drew an arrow from her quiver and placed it gently on the string, pulling it a couple of times to test it. She trembled, tense and ready.

Beside her, the other woads did the same. They waited.

The Saxons entered with a chorus of war cries that made Devnet's blood run cold, but she kept her fingers crawled firmly around the bow. After a moment, the war cries died out unexpectedly, as did the rhythm of marching feet. Puzzled, Devnet looked at Guinevere but her cousin simply shrugged and returned her eyes to the smoky fields. A tense silence settled over the valley, like a stone balancing at the very edge of a cliff, about to fall. Devnet closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, clearing her mind of all thought and anxiety.

Suddenly, from the smoke came a guttural voice that snarled words in a language Devnet couldn't understand, but that was unmistakably Saxon. The war cries echoed once again, this time even louder than before, and the battalion started moving. Beneath their shouting, Devnet's sharp ears captured the sound of the gates being shut again, trapping their enemy on their side of the Wall. A cold half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips for a brief second.

The woads under her and Guinevere's command waited for the signal to attack. One of them had climbed a tree to see over the smoke and let them know when the Saxon were within their range without being aware of it. When the signal came, Guinevere nodded towards Devnet and they both raised their bows at the same time in a silent order for the other woads to do the same.

"_Ready_".

They pulled the string to their ear and angled it slightly upwards.

"_Aim_".

Took a deep breath.

"_Shoot_".

The cousins released their arrows at the same time, followed by the rest in a silent, deadly rain that arched in the air and disappeared in the smoke.

They waited. One second...two...three...

From the depths of the smoke, somewhere in front of them, the Saxon war cried suddenly became yelps of surprise and agony as the arrows fell on them without mercy. But the woads didn't have a time to smile for themselves, because Devnet and Guinevere had already drawn another arrow to their string and were waiting for their next turn to attack. Because now, Arthur and his knights would step in.

A beastly, terrorizing roar rose from the left flank, and even thought she couldn't see the source, Devnet smiled, unafraid, recognizing Bors's familiar war cry, followed by a chorus of fast approaching hooves. There were a series of blood-curling clangs of metal, followed by a new set of screams from the Saxon's part. The knights had cut through the enemy lines on horseback like a knife through butter, striking with their swords like lightning before disappearing in the smoke.

When their clatter of hooves died out, while the Saxon were still confused and struggling to reorganize their lines, on the other side of the field Enyak ordered his own troops to shoot at the enemy. This time, the arrows came thought the Saxon's other flank, catching them once more off guard.

The knights swept through them again, this time from the other side, and the Saxons, disorientated, fell to their swords like flies. From between the smoke Devnet caught glimpses of moving shadows, or the occasional glimmer of steal. The Saxons were howling in pain, and everywhere Devnet could here hooves as the knights stroke by turns in a series of fast attacks, coming in and out though the smoke.

Devnet heard the distinguishing sound of crossbows, followed by cries, but none of them belonged to her beloved men, of that she was sure. The Saxon were shooting blindly in hope of striking a ghost, but instead they were taking down their own companions, confused by the smoke. The battle was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

The woads waited.

And then, as fast as they had begun, the Saxon cries died out, as did the thundering sound of horses. Guinevere raised a hand in a silent order to hold back. Silence fell over the battle field like a graveyard, and for a minute, no one moved.

Devnet breathed deeply several times, cooling of her mind from the recent thrill of energy triggered by battle. When the fire within her had calmed down a bit, she turned to her cousin, Guinevere nodded stiffly, and without a word, Devnet advanced towards the open field, an arrow ready at her bow.

Her task was simply. Find a single survivor amongst the Saxons, strike him with mortal would if necessary, and drag him to the Wall gates. They would send him back to his sire to bear witness of what had happened. It was a simple tactic based on fear. Hopefully, the dying man and the cries of his companions beyond the Wall would daunt the rest of the army.

As she made her way through the smoke, the remains of the skirmish appeared before her eyes like images drawn from her worst nightmares. Bodies scattered on the ground, bathes in blood. Somewhere so mangled that Devnet didn't even dare to look straight at them. Beneath the rusty stench of blood, she could already catch a sniff of the fouler smell of death. Her knights had no restrain with their enemies. They had murdered in cold blood.

A familiar object caught her attention. Protruding from one of the bodies, she recognized Gawain's axe. The Saxon was already dead, the weapon had sank with such force that it had reached his heart. The half-woad decided to retrieve it and hand it back to her friend later. With a foot on the dead man's chest, she grabbed the hilt of the axe with both hands and pulled it out with a disgusting sound that Devnet was certain never to forget for the rest of her life. She hanged the axe from her belt. The blood on the blade left stains on her pants.

Just then, she heard a cough nearby. Devnet followed the sound to a man was laying a few meters away, crashing under the weight of another body. The Saxon was already too weak to lift it, but Devnet struggled with the dead weigh until she finally managed to push the corpse to one side. The survivor's eyes popped open and widened when they saw the girl and recognized her painted face and blue tattoos. Devnet saw how the hope of a rescue died in the man's gaze, but surprisingly, she felt no pity for him. This could be the man that had fired the arrow that killed Dag back in the Lake of Sorrows. For a second, Devnet closed her eyes and remember Dagonet's warm touch cupping her cheek with his enormous hand. Her fist tightened. This rat was not worthy of her compassion.

Grabbing a handful of coarse black hair, Devnet forced the man to his feet. She noticed a large, bleeding gash running from his left shoulder to his right hip. This man was beyond salvation, but there was enough time to return him to his lord before he bled to death. Without a single word, Devnet pushed the man in front of her, the arrow on her bow pressing against the man's back, and forced him to walk. He was weak from blood lost, and a few meters ahead he toppled to the ground, making a whizzing sound. Devnet gritted her teeth and yanked him back up.

"_You have no permission to die yet, scum_" she thought coldly.

The Saxon was not able to walk on his own anymore, so she had slip one of his arms over her shoulders and half carry him. Gods, he was so heavy that Devnet's back started burning, but the rush of battle pushed her forward and gave her strength, an effect of the adrenaline burning through her veins.

Between pants and groans, they reached the gates, both man and woman gasping desperately for breath. But Devnet would recover, while this Saxon was close to his death. Footsteps rushed from somewhere above her head, and suddenly Jols appeared beside her, having descended from the top of the Wall through the stone stairs. He greeted Devnet with a silent nod, since there was little time to speak. He had to open the gate before the Saxon drew his last breath.

Devnet grabbed the man by the collar of his chain-mail and pulled him close to her face.

-Now listen to me-she snarled in a low voice, venom dripping from every word-You will cross those gates and tell your sire what had happened. Tell him that the blue demons await for him, as do the knights. They come through the smoke like ghosts and leave only death behind them—.

Her last words came out with a lugubrious tone filled with pure, blinded hatred. Devnet wasn't sure whether if the man had understood her at all, but she trusted that the tone in her voice would be enough to mark her biding.

Jols returned to inform her that the gate was open. With his help, they dragged the man towards the door and pushed him without care through the gap before shutting the gates tightly behind him once more. Devnet rested her back against the cold iron and took a moment to gather her breath. Jols awaited silently beside her in case he could be of assistant. He had always been so loyal...

-I must return to the forest now, Jols-she said after a while-And you must return to your post. But at least now, this Saxon invader will see that we will not be conquered so easily-a nearly sadistic smile took over her delicate features, as if death could actually be beautiful. Jols nodded and much to Devnet's surprised, bowed.

-I'll see you in the battlefield, my lady-he replied respectfully.

A smile broke through Devnet's dirtied face and she reached out to take the man's arm, pulling him back to his feet.

-Hopefully, after the battle, I think-she corrected, before standing on her tiptoes and placing a kiss on the man's rough cheek. Jols simply stared back at her, completely abashed. Devnet smiled and shook her head-You've been a loyal servant, master Jols-she added-A kiss is little, but for now, it is all that I can do to thank you for taking care of my knights for the past fifteen years-.

Jols nodded, still slightly stunned. Since there wasn't anything left to say, Devnet nodded back at him and walked away, disappearing into the smoke.

When she returned to the edge of the forest, she was greeted by anxious looks filled with questions. Guinevere stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug, relieved that nothing had happened to her. The thought that her cousin cared for her so much warmed Devnet's heart. -

How did it go?-Gwen inquired, walking back to their post.

Devnet shrugged when the images of the dead returned to her mind. Yes, she had to admit that she was glad that the Saxon advance had been destroyed, but the memory of all those maimed corpses would haunt her forever.

-It's was a carnage back there. For a moment I feared I would find nobody alive to serve our purpose-.

Guinevere nodded-Your knights are men to be feared-.

-I know. I...-a sharp cry cut her words, sending chills down her spine once more.

This time, the marching that followed the order to attack was even louder, and confident, promising to crush anything that go in their way.

_This was it_. The real army was coming, led by a leader that had spread fear throughout the whole island with rumors of his cruelty.

A lump formed inside Devnet's throat and she had to swallow painfully to make it go away. She sucked her breath.

-Looks like the Saxon received our message-she commented to her cousin through gritted teeth-But has chosen to ignore it-.

Guinevere drew and arrow from her quiver and placed it on the string of her bow, her dark eyes skimming between the clouds of smoke before her with cold fury.

-And thus they had sealed their fate then-she responded in a flat tone, before a crook grin twitched the corners of her mouth.

A gloom thought crossed Devnet's mind:

_"And ours"._


	26. XXII) The Blood of Britannia

**And here we are, finally the Great Battle. The fate of this story is defined. It was a very difficult chapter to write. So far the military confrontations in this story were more or less from a distance, since Devnet normally fights with her bow. But now the battle will be face to face, and it's complicated to narrate this actions and feelings when you have not experienced them yourself. I hope that the chapter turns out as vivid, epic and exciting as intended it to(that is, to give you goosebumps) and that you enjoy it. **

**As always, I ask you to leave your votes and reviews, because truly there is nothing more rewarding than your feedback, my dear readers. Lots of kissed, and enjoy! **

Devnet was terrified, there was no sense in denying it. _"Fear is a natural thing, we must not be ashamed of feeling it, it is in our survival instinct"_ her father had explained to her once, many years ago _"We cannot consent is that it takes control over our actions"._

The gates had opened again and Devnet could hear the Saxon pouring into the valley like a horde of wild beast. Thousands of them. She clutched her bow until her knuckles turned white. Suddenly, she felt the touch of a comforting hand on hear shoulder. Devnet turned to look at Guinevere.

-We can do this-her cousin assured her with a smile-We are warriors-.

Devnet nodded and inhaled deeply, feeling her scent with the air of Britain. The scent of her land. Her home. She would be damned before allowing those Scandinavian brutes to take over her land.

-We are warriors-she repeated, smiling despite her fear. Fear was not her enemy.

-Look-Guinevere nudged her before pointing with her chin towards the distant hills to the south. Devnet glanced in that direction and smiled when she distinguished the tall structures of the catapults commanded by her grand-father. The sight of those massive war machines infused the necessary spirits to overcome her fear. She smirked at her cousin.

-All right, let's send this bastards back to the hell they crawled out from-she affirmed, readying the arrow on her bow.

Just as they had suspected the Saxon's split there army between the two flanks, judging by the sound of footsteps rapidly aproaching in their direction. Guinevere ordered to bring forth oil and fire to light there arrows and set fire the trench that had been previously dug across the valley to separate their enemy. Many men came forth then, some carrying pot with oil and others with burning torches. They moved along the line of archers, lighting their arrows. The scorching flame sent a hot breath against Devnet face, but to her, that deadly fire was like a beautiful and deadly flower blooming against adversity. Like a piece of the burning sun impaled at the point of her arrow.

-At my order-said Guinevere, then, aiming the bow at the right angle-Wait until they've crossed the trench-.

Devnet looked across the field, and noticed to her left, near the fort cemetery, figures lurked between the smoke. Horsemen. One stepped forward and with a jolt, Devnet recognized Arthur, despite the smoke. The centurion was facing towards the Woads, and without a single word, he suddenly lifted his sword. Guinevere had seen the gesture to, and apparently that was the signal she'd been waiting for, for she ordered to aim. The idea of Arthur and Guinevere having an understanding between them diverted Devnet. She was more and more certain that those two would end up involved. If they survived, of course.

At Gwen's command, they released their burning arrows. They soared the air like a rain of shooting stars, and struck well and true on their Saxon targets. Their enemy tried to take shelter under their shield wall, unaware that the real purpose of those burning darts. With a deafening roar, the oiled trench immediately caught fire, and a wall of flames higher than any man rose to the skies and extended its reach across the valley. The Saxons cried out in surprise, and those unfortunate enough to be too close to the pitch burned like human torched in between screams. With a savage shout of war, the Woads drew their weapon and charged forward, with Devnet and Guinevere at the head.

Devnet's world narrowed once more until only the battle existed, running to meet the Saxons, who quickly recovered from the surprise and rushed towards them with their axes and their lances. The clash between the two armies was brutal, an immediately the cries of war and the sound of metal against metal filled the valley south of the Wall. Devnet thrust herself head first against a Saxon, going for his feet. Falling on her knees to avoid the Northman's maze, she drew her sword and made a clean cut that cut through leather, flesh and bone, separating the left foot from the rest of the body. The Saxon toppled to the ground with a cry, and Devnet jumped quickly back on her fit and drove her blade in the man's throat to kill him.

The battle became a blur of bodies, blood and swords as Devnet cut her way across the enemy, Saxon after Saxon. She struck quickly, playing the advantages of her size. Kicks, punches, cuts, stabs. Devnet struck without thinking, her body responding mechanically after years of training. Her sword darted in an out of bodies leaving bright trail of blood behind. She was in a killing spiral and would not stop until every single Saxon laid dead at her feet. From the other side of the field, she could hear the explosions of the catapults, and the thundering sound of horse hooves, or perhaps she was just imagining things. She could feel Guinevere beside her, fighting her way as deadly as her. The two cousin moved in perfect synchronization as I they'd been fighting together their whole lives, watching each other's back and taking down their enemies together.

Suddenly, a massive Saxon dressed in black fur charged towards them with his axe. A woad rushed forward to meet him, but the Saxon sliced his head off with a single blow. Devnet thanked the thrill of battle had numbed her senses, or else she would have probably gone mad. The Saxon was running towards them, and Devnet and Guinevere clustered shoulder to shoulder, with their sword at mid-high.

-Together?-Guinevere panted beside her.

Devnet nodded-_Together_-.

While Devnet lifted her sword to meet the Saxon's iron with such a force that made all of her bones clatter, Guinevere rounded the man and pounced on his back, pulling his helmet of to expose his skull. The man swirled to shake the woad off his back and Guinevere fell, rolling on the ground. Devnet tried to stab the man through the eye while he was still recovering from the attack, but the Saxon struck her with the hilt of his axe full on the stomach and Devnet felt on her back, her breath brutally knocked out of her. While Devnet saw stars, the Saxon turned to Guinevere, who still laid on the ground, stunned by the blow. The princess gasped when the man raised his axe to strike her, but at the last minute she rolled to one side and the blade sank in the earth. Devnet force herself to her feet then, gripping her sword tightly and launched forward while the man was trying to free his weapon from the ground, this time stabbing him in the lower back, right beneath his belt. The man roared in pain and Devnet pushed him to his knees, holding him down with her whole body while Guinevere rose to her feet and slit his throat. Blood erupted from the cut like stream, spattering all over Devnet's face.

Suddenly, pain erupted at the back of her head and Devnet's face hit the ground. The girl moaned and rolled on her back, but before she could stand, a Saxon fell on top of her, pinning her down with his knees pressed over her chest. Devnet choked and tried to claw the man's face, but he slapped her hands off. Devnet's eyes searched frenetically around her for a weapon she could use, since her sword had been knocked of her hand. She noticed what appeared to be the hilt of a dagger hanging from her attacker's belt, and without thinking it twice, she grabbed the knife and stabbed him in the arm. The man howled and cursed, spitting on her face with an insult in his language that Devnet was quite certain, went along the lines of "_bitch_". Now that she was able to move, she folded her knee and kicked the man in the stomach with enough force to push him away. Rolling to one side, she retrieved her sword from the ground and drove her sword in his chest until the blade appeared on the other end. With a grunt, she shoved the body off.

Sometime during the encounter, she'd lost sight of Guinevere, but there was no time to worry over her cousin now. The woad princess knew how to take care of herself, while just a few steps away from Devnet, a woad woman with was struggling against a Saxon. The Northman wielded his maze and struck the woman straight in the jaw, knocking her off her feet.

Devnet sprang back to motion and sprinted to the woman's aid. Picking a broken lance from the ground, she charged against the Saxon with a wildling war cry. The impact was strong enough that the wood cut right through the man's belly, and now that he was weakened and could not lift his maze, Devnet made a swing from left to right and cut his stomach open. His bloody entrails slipped out and the man clutched his belly in an attempt to push them back in. Devnet knelt beside the fallen woad girl, and surprised, recognized her as Brona, her long forgotten childhood friend. Blood was dripping from her mouth and her jaw was clearly broken.

-Brona!-she shook her with haste-Brona, wake up, wake up!-but she knew, even before she searched the woman's wrist for a pulse, that she was dead. Closing her eyes with a short sigh she murmured a quick prayer for the woman's soul before grabbing the dagger Brona had been wielding before the Saxon killed her and hanging it from her belt beside Gawain's axe.

The battle had turned into an absolute bloody chaos, and Devnet had no idea of where she was regarding her original position. She had moved closer to the fire trench, however, so she tried to keep her enemy always between her sword and the wall of flames. The young woman could feel the salty taste of blood in her mouth, perhaps from a broken lip of dripping from her nose. She was certain that was also covered in bruises and scratches, perhaps even one or two wounds, but thanks to thrill running through her veins, she felt nothing at all. Only rage, hatred and lust for victory and revenge. Would Arthur have been proud of the warrior she had become, or would he have mourned for the innocent sister she was not anymore? It really didn't matter, and it sounded silly that such thought crossed her mind at that very moment.

A prickling sensation tingled down her back, and in a reflex act, Devnet spun, lifting her sword just in time to block an opponent's blow that would have sliced her head off like butter. The man however, backed a few steps and charged again, dragging the woman into a fierce sword dwell that went so fast Devnet barely had time to breathe at all. The Saxon was skilled, fast and brutishly strong, and the little half-woad soon found herself simply blocking his attacks instead of responding to them. She was losing ground, taking a step backwards with each new clash of swords. Her back had started burning, which could only mean one thing. Alarmed, she looked behind her out of her corner of her eye and catch side of the orange flicker of the fire wall, heard its roaring breath. The Saxon was driving her straight to the flames. Devnet's mind raced. The Saxon lifted his sword over his head with both hands, ready to strike with a final blow strong enough to send her tumbling into the fire. The terrifying image of her enemy about to finish her gave Devnet a second of clear illumination. Brazing herself, she lifted her sword as if intending to block his blow once more, but when the Saxon launched forward with all the force of his body, Devnet flexed her legs and jumped to one side at the last minute. With the force of his body, the Saxon lost balance and fell forwards head first into the flames. Panting on the ground, Devnet watched him burn, possessed by tortured screams. She let out a sigh of relief and pushed herself to her feet.

The battle went on, there was no space for exhaustion in the midst of those fields of death. A nasty blur of war and swords covered in blood soared and swirled around Devnet. It was like being drunk, only that her senses were painfully alert. Her heart was pounding in her chest, she could feel the pulse of her own blood boiling with rage. It was the madness of battle, the lust of war. Devnet had heard soldiers speak of it before, and she'd been touched by traces of it, but this was the first time she experienced it with such a strong force. She felt feverish. She fell and she rose, she killed and she bled. Her sword, Lancelot's gift, had become a deadly extension of her body.

Then, beyond the trembling image of the flames, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, striking down Saxon's many at the time with two swords that flickered in and out of sight, reflecting the light of the fire. Fortune, capricious as she was, wanted that Lancelot turn is head in her direction precisely in that same instant, and he too recognized her through the flames. A smile broke Devnet's lip when he saw her, and even in the heart of what was probably the deadliest battle of their lives, Lancelot had never been happier to see her.

Then a scream cut through the air, a scream Devnet recognized, and it made her avert her gaze from the dark knight. Turning to look over her shoulder, Devnet spotted Guinevere a few meter away from her. Horrified, the half-woad so her cousin fall to the ground with another cry, a Saxon towering. Devnet was close enough to perceive the details of his presence. His clothes seemed to indicate he was of higher rank, for the pelts on his back seemed thicker and cleaner, and his steel was definitely better than most. With a shock, Devnet recognized him. Even if she had only seen him one time before, from a distance, Devnet would never forget that bald young man. The Saxon in charge of the battalion that had attacked her and the knights back in the mountains. The leader behind Dagonet's death.

-GWEN!-.

Devnet launched forward, sword firmly gripped in her hand, to face the Saxon that intended to finish of her cousin. She would save Guinevere and avenge Dagonet in the process. With a snarl on her lips, Devnet decided that this man's death would be a painful one. Her intentions however died when someone grabbed her by the hair that had come loose from her braid, making her stumble against a thick, fur-covered chest.

The Saxon that had captured her wrapped his arms as thick as tree trunks around her frame and tightened his grip, knocking the air out of her. Despair invaded Devnet when she saw the Guinevere fall to the ground again after her attacker smacked her with the edge of his shield.

-NO! NO! _GWEN_!-cried Devnet. P

ossessed by anguish, she struggled to free herself from the man's grip. Devnet folded her legs to her chest and then thrust them backwards, hard, against the man's stomach. Unfortunately, it was too late to rush and aid Guinevere, because the man soon recovered from her kick and lifted his sword to meet hers. Devnet had no option but to fight him off.

_"Gods, please help her"_ she thought as she blocked the man's blow, jumped to one side and attempted to attack him from the left.

Once more, Devnet was engaged in a restless dance of swords and blows. She blocked and thrust, prancing around the man in circles in an attempt to confuse him, but so far, the man had kept his ground. There was no chance of getting away because the man was too close. Despite the danger, Devnet's heart was not in the fight, but in her cousin's well-being.

And suddenly she heard, like thunder, a galloping horse jumping over the wall of flames and a man's war cry raging through the air. Just as the Saxon was about to struck Guinevere with a final blow, the rider leaped from his saddle, and with a clatter, his swords blocked the man's weapon before it could damage the woad princess.

_Lancelot. _

A smile of relief broke through Devnet's features. The Gods had listened to her prayers. After seeing Devnet trying to reach her cousin, but being intercepted by another Saxon, the knights had jumped on his horse once more and quickly galloped in the princess's aid. Now that Devnet knew that her cousin was protected, she fully turned her attention to her attacker.

Devnet lured his sword towards her, and when he thrusted forward, the girl gracefully skipped to one side and punched him in the face. The man stumbled backward, holding his bloody nose. Devnet took advantage immediately. First, she disarmed him, hitting the hand that gripped the weapon with the hilt of her sword. Then, she crippled him, kicking him hard just below the knees, causing his legs to give away from under him. And when she had him completely subjected, she drove her sword through his ribs. Victory plastered across her bloody face, Devnet dried off the sweat at her brow with her forearm and turned with a sadistic smile to rush forward and help Lancelot to finish off the Saxon.

She turned just on time to see the bald Saxon take a crossbow from a nearby corpse and shoot Lancelot straight in the chest.

Suddenly the world slowed around Devnet and then stopped completely. She saw the arrow sink deep in the man's chest, piercing the armour. Lancelot was thrown back with the force of the impact, but he didn't fall. Slowly, he looked down at the arrow protruding from his chest, and with one glance, he seemed to understand his fate.

Devnet was glued to the ground. She wasn't even sure whether if she was breathing at all. She gasped as if had been hit by the arrow as well. Lancelot lifted his head towards the man that had just shot him. The Saxon stood a few steps away, the crossbow was still in his hand, and his face was a mask of cold victory. Drawing strength, perhaps out of desperation, Lancelot lifted his arm over his head and with a loud cry filled with rage, threw one of his sword at him. The Saxon, would have never expected such a thing from a man with an arrow lodged in his chest, was not quick enough to move away, and just like the arrow had sank in Lancelot's chest, the sword sank in his, straight in the heart. The Saxon fell with his features clenched in a mixture of pain and bewilderment.

Still unable to move, Devnet saw Lancelot fall to his knees, holding a hand against his chest. The girl's eyes widened when she noticed all the blood that slowly emanated from the wound. The anguish in wouldn't let her breath. And when the man she'd grown up with raised his gaze and looked straight at her, Devnet's heart finally broke.

She saw it then. There, written in his eyes. Those three words that meant everything they'd lived. Everything they'd felt. Everything they'd been for each other. Those words that for years he hadn't been able to say. Those words, never to be spoken out loud, were his death wish. That she knew, finally, surely, and without doubt, what he felt for her. Memories crossed her open eyes like a flash of lightning; a first kiss on a hot summer night, the sound of giggles and chuckles hiding beneath the sheets of the bed, a magical dance around the Samhain bonfires, the curve of a smile under the late morning sun, a question asked in the chill of the evening air, when freedom had seemed so close. Devnet's own eyes flooded with tears at how one look could mean their whole life together.

_"Yes. I would've left with you."_

And then_ red_. Red and mind-blinding pain shooting from her side and spreading everywhere, to her very soul. Her breath escaped shortly, and with a gasp caught in her throat, she slowly lowered her gaze, to the dagger lodged between her ribs. A dying Saxon, seeing her distracted and distant from the battle, had seized the opportunity of taking one more life and dying with glory, and with his last breath, had crawled to her feet and managed to slip his knife between her ribs. Devnet's trembling hands got stained with the thick, warm trail of her own blood lazily trailing down her waist.

Bewildered, she lifted her eyes once more to where Lancelot still knelt. The man seemed to have momentarily forgotten the arrow protruding from his chest, looking at her with horrified eyes. _No_.

Mildly surprised, Devnet's legs gave away and she fell to her knees. However, when she saw Lancelot's despair, the realization that she didn't want to die separated from him was such a blow that it knocked the air out of her with more violence than the dagger on her side. The girl dropped on her elbows and began crawling towards the knight's direction. With every inch she covered, more blood erupted from her wound. Her head started to feel light from blood-lost, and her sight was turning slightly foggy, the corners going dark. She had to reach him, she had to. Dragging her wounded body across the dirt and the blood and the corpse became her whole existence. But the more she advanced, the further away the man seemed to be from her.

And suddenly she couldn't see him anymore.

Devnet panicked. Had he fallen? Was he dead? Her wandering thought were interrupted when her strength abandoned her suddenly and her face hit the earth.

_ "This is it"_ she thought bitterly.

Her arm was still extended in the direction she'd last seen Lancelot. She hadn't been able to safe him no more than she'd be able to save herself. She wouldn't be dying by his side either.

_"I'm dying alone"_ tears welled in her eyes, but her mind was curiously calm, resigned to her fate. Hopefully, all of this wouldn't have been in vane and Britain would see its freedom. She was confident that it would be so. Arthur would defeat the Saxon, even if it was without them. It was his destiny, from the moment he was born. _"It's all in your hands, my friend. Bring freedom to us all". _

Around her, the battle continued. Woads, Britons, Saxons, they lived and they died around her. Britain was fighting with her very soul, and would do so until its last breath. At least that thought filled the emptiness in her heart left by the bitter idea of not knowing how the battle would end. This land would fight for its right to continue being free, for its history. It was in their spirits. It was in their_ blood_.

With the last shadow of strength left in her dying body, Devnet turned to lie on her back, fixing her eyes upon the sky she had grown beneath. Hadn't it been for the smoke of battle, would've displayed a peaceful marbled tone. But instead, it was grey and sickly. She averted her gaze from it, not wanting anymore with that battle, with that war, and that sufferment. The pain on her side was unbearable, but it seemed more and more distant at the same time. She was sure she was dying.

If it was true that a person saw their life pass in front of their eyes before dying, Devnet wouldn't know. Everything was fading and going too fast for her to focus. Maybe she saw horses galloping across the green hills of this beloved land, maybe she heard children laughing, maybe felt her father's hand in hers, patting it tenderly.

Closing her eyes, Devnet evoked the image she wanted to leave this earth with. Her beloved. Lancelot's face, with his elegant lopsided grin...

Everything faded.


	27. XXIII) A Beam In Winter

**No, this is not a dream, but me actually, FINALLY, updating the next chapter. I am so, so, SO sorry for taking so bloody long. I've had very busy months, and between going off to college, lack of inspiration and maybe a little bit of denial about finishing this story, I just couldn't get around to finish the chapter until today. Thank you so, so much for you patience, you've got no idea how much it means for me to have such wonderfully loyal readers. This chapters goes to every single one of you. Remember to tell me what you think about the chapter! **

War. An atrocious curse of mankind, mother of dispair, home of sorrow. Age after age, humanity had fallen under its cruel reign of death...and somehow managed to get back on their feet everytime. After hours of long peril and tortuous fighting, Arthur Castus Pendragon, half roman, half Briton, had sealed his fate y slaying the Saxon King that came from the see in a Final Battle worthy of legends. With the blood of their leader spilled over British ground, the Norse had faltered and finally fled back the way they'd come with their tail between their legs. Chorused by the victory cries of the woads and the Britons, and joined under one leader and one common cause. Freedom had finally prevailed.

But war left scars that not even time could erase. Only an hour after the battle had been won, the people of Hadrian's Wall had returned after been informed that the Saxon threat was no more. And the fields had been filled with the cries of mourning souls that searched amongst the bodies for their loved ones. The battle had been won, but for a heavy cost. For days and nights, the funeral pyres lit up the sky, commemorating the warriors fallen in battle, and the ones that had passed away after due to the graveness of their wounds. The local cemetery displayed dozens of freshly dug graves marked with swords, bows, daggers, or even a simple personal belonging, for not all who had fought had been skilled warriors. Amongst the army that had saved Britain from the cruel hands of a new invasor had been peasants too. Simple villagers, farmers, carpenters, musicians, serves. Men who had never seen the crude reality of war before had joined the battle for their home. Their deaths had not been in vain, and their sacrifice would not be forgotten. Their loss was still fresh, and the town lived in sorrow. It was in the missing faces, and the red-eyed widows, the silent children and the flowers hanging in every doorstep to commemorate the fallen. They were far too many Death had claimed many from every side. A bitter proof of this was the growing cemetery, not only the place of eternal rest of the inhabitants of Hadrian's Wall, but also of the fallen warriors amongst the Blue People's ranks.

Yes, so much had been won. But so much had equally been lost.

Even the ancient and powerful linage of the sons of Mona mourned the loss of a family member. And not only the woads shed tears this time. It had been one of the most emotive funerals celebrated in the last days Merlin and Guinevere lingered beside the grave long after everyone else had departed to mourn.

Grandfather and granddaughter stood side by side in silence, each suffering their loss. The most important family of the woad tribes, descendants from the very druids connected to the Gods; was now left with no more members than three.

-Three grandchildren I had. Already it was a small number compared to the number of children I fathered-sighted Merlin-And now I have nothing left but two, yet one lingers between life and death-he shook his head, with a heavy heart-It is a horrible thing when the young die while we elders remain to wither in this cruel earth-.

Guinevere stifled a sob and buried her face in the magician's shoulder. Death had pained every heart. The soul that had once rested inside that body would be sorely, almost unbearable missed by many, if not all. Gwen had never seen men noted for their fierceness in battle, cry over a grave. And still, the shadow of the White Lady still haunted those lands, threatening to take yet another of the remaining members of Merlin's clan.

The elder and the princess clung to each other, praying for the dead...and begging for the living.

Death and life had always been opposite points in the same line. At least that's what had always been said to her. But the place where her soul wondered seemed to be caught somewhere in between. Not here. Not there. Alone, but surrounded. Voices, screams, sounds...They talked to her but she couldn't understand a word. Or hear them. And yet she knew they were there. Was death, in truth, a shadow of living? Wondering in the middle of nowhere, being and being not? There was no time in that place, and yet eternity existed. And wasn't eternity a form of time? Endless, of course, but time in the end. It was impossible to apply logical thinking there...and logic didn't even make sense anymore. There was no place either. Not a physical one. But it wasn't nothing either. It was like floating. Where? How? She did not know, and when she struggled to find the answers, she forgot the questions. As if from time to time she didn't own a mind at all.

The first time she woke up, her sight was out of focus and her breathing was heavy. She was thirsty. And she was_ not dead. _

She tried talking, but wasn't sure of how, or if she even could. A pale figure surrounded by a strange halo of red hovered over her and held something hot against her lips. She tried to make it go away, the vision, the object, everything. But she couldn't find the will to move her limbs. It was like she had forgotten that in the past she had owned a body.

-Now, now, Devy-cocooned a sweet voice, familiar from somewhere-Drink this. Go back to sleep. You need rest. Sleeeeeep-her voice morphed into a low grunt as she slipped away from consciousness once more.

_"Vanora?"... _

The next time her eyes opened, she didn't attempt to talk, afraid of drawing attention and that someone would give her another sleeping potion. She waited until her sight became clear once more, and only then did she dare to look around. She recognized her room in the fortress, the bed below the window, the cupboard on the other side, the chair in front of the fireplace where her cat was currently curled in sleep. Slightly dazed, Devnet tried to incorporate herself into a sitting position, but her body didn't respond to her effort, as if her bones had turned to stone.

-Oh! You're awake!-.

Vanora suddenly appeared by her bedside, drawn by the sound of her struggles. Devnet looked at her as if it were the first time she'd seen her, feeling too disorientated yet to speak. Her mind was still a chaos of lost memories slowly coming back to her, and it was just regaining conscious.

-Here, let me help you-Van leaned over and slowly, helped Devnet to a sitting position, placing various pillows at her back. Devnet winced and emitted a strangled gasp when pain erupted in her side as if her ribs were on fire.

-Easy there, Devnet, easy. You're not completely healed yet-Van sat carefully beside on the edge of the bed and touched the woman's forehead to check for fever.

Suddenly, Devnet felt like her breath had been taken away from her, as the pain in her side suddenly triggered the part of her mind that was still asleep, bringing back all the memories in full force, threatening to push her over the edge of insanity.

-THE BATTLE!-she screamed, pushing Vanora's hand away from her face and grabbing it desperately-WHAT HAPPENED!? WHERE'S ARTHUR!? I remember...my cousin...I couldn't reach her...LANCELOT!-.

-Devy, Devy, you have to calm down. Its okay, we're safe. The Saxons have been defeated. Arthur saved us all, everything will be fine-Vanora kept her tone calm as she spoke, putting Devnet's hands down with slow, soothing motions in an attempt to calm her-You were stabbed in battle and you've lost a lot of blood. We feared you wouldn't make it, but the dagger went through without damaging any vital organ-.

-Never mind that. I want to- Vanora opened her mouth to cut her off, but at that very moment, the door to Devnet's chamber opened, and Arthur himself stepped in, closing it silently behind him. The redhead gasped and quickly gathered her skirts and stood before bowing her head slightly, with and air of solemnity. Devnet merely stared at the roman commander, too overwhelmed by the different thoughts and emotions boiling inside of her to say anything. But blessed be the Gods, he was alive! Part of her breathed in relief at the sight of the man safe and sound.

-Arthur!-she finally managed to whisper hoarsely, but there was still clear desperation in her tone-Oh, Arthur, thank the Gods you're alive! Vanora here just told me that the Saxons were defeated. How? And where are the others? What happened!? Please tell me. The knights, my grandfather...Gwen...-her voice broke down.

The man rushed to her bedside, falling on his knees and taking her hand to kiss repeatedly. There were tears in his eyes as he shook his head, clutching her fingers between his.

-Devnet, thank God! Thank you, Lord, thank you!-he exclaimed, looking momentarily towards the ceiling, speaking to his deity, before returning his full attention to her-My little Devy, I was afraid I would lose you. I don't know what I would have done then...-.

Devnet pulled his calloused hands to her face and pressed them against her lips-I'm just as happy to see you well, Artorius, believe me. But my mind won't find peace until I know what's been on the others-she insisted, doing her best to keep her tone calm and failing greatly. There was no force in the world that could contain the despair inside her. It was so big Devnet didn't even know how to react. A rational part inside her brain that seemed to be separated from the rest of her informed that she probably still in shock.

When Arthur lowered his eyes, looking at their hands instead of her, Devnet knew that she'd lost someone else she loved. She knew it by the instant emptiness that formed inside her heart, which had started crying without even knowing who had died. It was enough to know that someone had, and Devnet didn't want to hear the name because she knew that no matter what, it would kill a part of her... Unless is was that one name that could murder her whole.

-No...-the girl shook her head, rebelling against the idea even when Arthur nodded in front of her-No, no...please...-. -

Devnet...-.

-He's dead, isn't he?-.

-Devnet, you must not exalt yourself...-.

-Who?-.

-Dev, stay calm first...-.

-DAMN IT, ARTHUR! WHO IS HE!?-.

The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He ran a hands over his jaw, covered in a beard of various days. There were bags under his eyes, his hair was wild, tangled and dirty. He was pale, he looked ill. But Devnet couldn't care less about Arthur's well-being at the moment besides the fact that he was alive. Because there was someone who wasn't and she had to know. She had to know if...

-It's Tristan, Devnet-Arthur finally replied shortly, his tone a bit higher than he'd intended to-Tristan is dead-.

The world had a funny way to play with the human heart. It made you fearful, it made you worry about one thing so much it takes every corner of your mind. You suffer, cry, and despair over loosing that which you're so obsessed with. You crack your head trying to figure out a way of saving it from an ill fate, and you harden your heart for the eminent blow of its loss. But when the times came, the universe took away not that you'd been fearing for so long, but something completely different. Something which, in your obsession with the other, you'd relinquished to a secondary stage. You'd barely thought about it in the recent time, barely even bothered to worry about it. And then the world came and snatched it brutally from your life, and you don't even know how it is possible that that thing you hadn't even remembered in the last days was suddenly gone and it hurt so damn much. True it was, life never missed an opportunity to demonstrate that you never appreciated what you had, until you lost it.

And then the mind had space for one thought only. How? How had Tristan died, if Tristan was the one man Devnet would never have imagine to fall in battle? How was it possible, if Tristan was by far the more skilled warrior Devnet had ever seen or heard of? How was it possible that, of all the men Devnet loved, the only one she had been confident she wouldn't have to worry about, because he certainly couldn't be killed...was dead?

-What!?-Devnet blurted out, even though she'd understand the commander perfectly well-No...no...no...No!-she repeated, panic and despair fueling through her veins. Her breathe quickened, as did her pulse, yet her face had gone as pale as morning light. She could feel the tears, hot and bright, urging to roll down her slightly gaunt cheeks. A lump formed at her throat and could feel herself close to the ultimate break-down.

Arthur would not stop shaking his head, and he cupped her face with his rough palms, pulling her to him in an embrace that finally confirmed that living nightmare. Devnet fell against him, face buried in his chest, sobs wrecking through her soul as if thy pretended to bring her whole body down.

-Tristan...not Tristan...-she kept mumbling incoherently, feeling the salty taste of her own tears. She ignored the pain in her side when she'd sat up so violently to hug Arthur, and now that her ribs contracted with every sob. Fuck that pain, Devnet would gladly endure it, if that would bring her friend back from the Underworld.

But even then, when her heart was immersed in the pain caused by the stoic knight's loss, even then, Devnet couldn't stop thinking about the last scene she'd witnessed before blacking out. She feared to ask, the mere thought brought fresh tears to her face and gave her the sensation that she was falling. She felt the impulse of running away, away from the answer to the question she was about to make:

-And...and Lancelot?-she muttered, barely in a whisper, pulling away from Arthur's chest and holding her breathe, like her whole existence depended on it. She could feel her life on the verge of the abysm. One answer would pull her back. The other would condemn her forever. She was scum, she knew. She'd just heard about Tristan's death, and even thought her soul suffered from the loss, she still couldn't stop thinking about the Dark Knight. In fact, Devnet realized with a mixture of horror and guilt that she would've, not gladly, but willingly trade Tristan's life for that crude, handsome, curly haired man's.

-He lives...- Arthur added something else, but Devnet stopped listening after those two words. Closing her eyes, she realized the breath she'd been holding with a long, profound cry of relief and pain and unimaginable, incomparable gratefulness, before collapsing back on the pillows, feeling like she'd been suddenly drained of every ounce of strength. But who cared? He lived. He lived. The arrow had gone in, Devnet had seen it do so, but Lancelot lived.

\- Taing mhór, Dagda! Taing mhór! Taing mhór!-she covered her face with her pale little hands, sobbing against her palms and thanking the Gods. She felt so fucking guilty for that relief inside her chest, but she couldn't help it. At that point, the little half-woad couldn't tell whether if she was crying of sadness or relief. Possibly both. Arthur, however, didn't allow her much more than a second to enjoy the fact that their best friend was alive, before taking her hands away from her face and looking into her eyes, still somberly serious.

-But barely, Devnet-he repeated, since the woman obviously hadn't heard him the first time-The arrow nearly went straight through him. It's a miracle that he still lives, that the arrow didn't pierce his heart or his lungs. Your grandfather has treated him personally, but Lancelot is still weak. Too weak. It's too soon to say that he'll be saved-.

Devnet listened to her friend feeling the knot in her throat grow tighter and tighter, feeling that her insides were suddenly none existent and that there was nothing but a heavy emptiness inside her. She chocked a gasp, before clinging to Arthur's arm desperately.

-I have to see him! Where is he?!-she demanded urgently-Quick, fetch me my shoes...-.

-No-.

Only too late did Arthur realized that with that sole word, the precarious control of Devnet's state broke and something inside the woman snapped, unleashing her utter hysteria.

-I HAVE TO SEE HIM!-she attempted to jump from the bed, but was held back by Arthur, who imprisoned in his arm. Devnet didn't even care about her wound anymore, she was no longer in pain. Adrenaline boiled through her veins. She kicked and thrust her fists and scratched and even tried to bite like a wild animal. Arthur yelled an order to Vanora over the half-woad shrieks.

-Devnet! Stop! You'll open your wound again!-he warned while struggling with the unleashed girl.

-I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT MY WOUND! I HAVE TO SEE LANCELOT!-.

She had gone mad. She was outside herself, alienated, infuriated. There was no reasoning with her. Arthur tried to hold her down while Vanora approached the bed hurriedly with a cup of some hot substance in her hands. Devnet realized that they intended to put her to sleep again, I she fought with all her force to free herself from Arthur's grasp, but the man, for once in his life, grasped her arms roughly, and held her head down so that Vanora could place the cup against Devnet's mouth. The half-woad tried to spit and cough the burning sleeping potion, but Vanora finally managed to pour a mouthful of it down her throat while Devnet choked and stirred. The brunet's movements grew weaker as she could feel her mind drowsing off to sleep, even though her eyes struggled to stay open. She could still hear Arthur's voice, but it seemed to come from somewhere very far away.

"I'm sorry, Devnet, I'm sorry...".

She woke up in the dead of the night, and was relieved to find that she was finally alone. She laid still, staring at the ceiling, while she waited for her body to regain enough strength to stand. Meanwhile, her mind raced, escaping from the web of sleep. Lancelot...he was alive...at least that was the last thing she'd heard about him...no, no. He was alive. He had to be.

Now, where would they keep him? Arthur had mentioned that his state was still precarious, so he wouldn't be in a crowded place with all the other sick and wounded. No, a man needed peace, comfort and quiet to recover from a wound like that.

_"His room"_ Devnet thought. He was probably in his room. Very well then. Lancelot's chamber was just down the hall. Only thing was, "down the hall", in Devnet's state was longer than it sounded. And while she was alone in the her room, Devnet knew Arthur to well to suspect he'd post a guard outside her door, in case she tried to sneak out, which he probably knew she would do. Devnet would never be able to outrun someone completely healthy, but there was a good chance that whomever Arthur had appointed outside, might be asleep, right? No one would think that a girl who'd just been stabbed would try to venture outside her bed. Supposing they were indeed asleep, how long would it take her to get into Lancelot's room? The simple act of incorporating herself and pulling her feet down the edge of the bed sent a jolt of pain down her side and left her out of breath for a couple of minutes. How long before they realized she'd left her room? But she had to do it, she had to at least try. She needed to see him, her Dark Knight. To touch his face, to pull away the curls from his brow, to feel his pulse, no matter how weak, beneath her finger tips. Her heart yearned to check he was truly alive with her own five senses. No matter the cost.

Her legs threatened to give away from under her when she finally stood. She had to support herself against the wall to keep her knees from hitting the ground. She bent and leaned forward in a half hunched position, the only one that made the pain at her side slightly more bearable. Wincing with every movement, she woman slowly stepped forward, supporting her weight against the wall. It was a slow and painful process. She spent a good ten minutes in rounding the room with her body against the wall, struggling to be as quiet as her gasps would allow her.

When she finally reached the door, she spent another few minutes just resting against the wood, waiting for her breathe to catch up with her. Gods, this was going to be harder than she'd imagined.

Breathing profoundly, she turned the doorknob, and carefully, ever so carefully, peeked her head out to look at the hall. Just as she'd presumed, on the opposite side of the door sat Jols, snoring quietly, his head falling on his chest. Devnet indulged herself with half a second of joy over the fact that he was alive as well, before slowly slipping out into the hallway. She didn't dare close the door behind her. It wouldn't make a difference anyways.

Slowly, biting her lower lip, she reassumed her limping down the hall, supporting herself against the wall and grabbing onto the beacons set at regular intervals to push herself forward. Behind her, Jols still slept. Step, grab, forward. Step, grab, forward. Devnet forced herself to think of nothing else but those three instructions repeated over and over in her head as she . With every inch she advanced, the pain on her side grew. She could feel the stitches straining in an attempt to keep the wound from opening and bleeding again, but Devnet just didn't care. Her health might be delicate, but she would rather endure a crippled body, than a crippled heart. Step, grab, forward.

Had Lancelot's room always been so far away from hers? She used to cover the distance in seconds, before, ready to meet hit lips hungrily, to fall in the tramp of his arms and laugh and sigh between the sheets, pretending that there was nothing more in the world but them. The longing for those lost days and nights kept her going, even though her body was screaming for her to stop, to lay down, to rest. Her vision was becoming blurry. The light of the torches was dancing in front of her eyes. Devnet blinked furiously, fighting to stay conscious. Fuck, her side was on fire. She had to stop. Her body was begging her to. Everything hurt, from breathing to thinking. There wasn't enough air in the world to fill her lungs.

_"Keep going. You're almost there. The next door...the next door..."_ And then, finally her fingers brushed woods instead of stone, and Devnet nearly sobbed in relief, grabbing the doorknob with trembling hands and resting her forehead against the door to catch her breathe. Her victory, however, was cut short by shouts of alarm that came from the direction she'd come, when Jols woke up with unconscious instinct and realized she was gone. Other doors opened down the hallway, and Gawain and Galahad peeked their heads out. And when they realized what was going on, they rushed to drag Devnet back to bed.

_"No"._

Devnet pushed the door open and stumbled inside, falling on her hands and knees. She tried to stand, but the action was impossible for her, she felt like if her side was being ripped aside by a pair of claws. Panting violently, with her brow covered in cold sweat, the woman began crawling towards the bed, one hand holding her side, the other pushing her body forward. Later, Devnet would not be able to remember how on earth she managed to climb on the bed, but she somehow finally found herself laying on the mattress, on the verge of exhaustion. But all the pain had been worth it, because Lancelot slept inches away from her.

The man looked like Hell. His breathing was ragged and so slow, Devnet had to lean very close to perceive it. He was as pale as a ghost, and so weak that Devnet feared that he might fall apart in a pail of ashes any time now. Cuddling her body closer to him, the little half-woad pushed her hair behind her ear, and slowly, ever slowly, kissed the man's temple.

-Lancelot-she whispered without a sound, her lips pressed against his cold skin-My Lancelot...-.

Gawain, Galahad and Jols burst into the room then toppling over one another with horrified expressions. The Gods knew what sort of scene they'd expected to find; maybe Devnet sprawled on the floor at the end of a trail of her own blood.

-Devnet!-Gawain hissed in a low voice, seeing her curled in the bed beside Lancelot's weakened frame-You are not supposed to be here!-he began walking with determination towards the bed, ready to scoop the woman up and carry her against her will back to her room. Devnet stirred feebly, but she had no strength left to run away.

-No, please...please...-she whimpered miserably, huddling closer to Lancelot's side.

-I am sorry, Devy, but you need to-

He was cut short by a low, hoarse groan that came from the bed. Surprised, he looked at Devnet, who instead of gazing back up at him, turned to look at Lancelot with a worried frown. The knight stifled and groaned again before opening his eyes painfully slow, as if the very act supposed a huge amount of effort from his part. He managed to tilt his head to the side, dizzy and confused, and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to recognize the pale little face hovering beside him.

-Dev...-he whispered breathlessly, barely, with an exhausted tone. But his black eyes suddenly opened wide, very alert even as the rest of him wasn't, and he tried to move his head closer to her face-You...-.

-You're alive!-Devnet completed his words unconsciously, before covering his face in kisses, starting to sob uncontrollably, her mind still trying to catch up with the swiftly passing events. The others, still too surprised to see their friend awake, stared at the couple lying on the bed, wide eyed and mouth hanging slightly open.

Finally, it was Gawain who snapped out of his shock and turned to look at the other two, his eyes twinkling brightly with excitement.

-Tell Arthur that Lancelot's awake! Now! Fetch Merlin too, he'll want to check on him right away!-. Jols nodded and immediately set off to fulfill the order, but Galahad hesitated.

-What about Devy?-.

The two knights turned to look again in direction of the bed. Devnet was whispering softly in Lancelot's ear, her hands pushing away the curls that after days of confinement had grown long and unruly, away from his brow. The knight, eyes closed but conscious, attempted to seek her free hand on the bed. Smiling through her tears, Devnet grabbed his hand, and they could see Lancelot grasp her fingers, weak, but confidently. Gawain's expression softened, and a shadow of a smile appeared beneath his scruffy blonde whiskers.

-Let's leave her for now-.

Enyak had perished in battle. Vanora informed her the day after, while she revised the stitches on Devnet's side, making sure that they would not come off after the half-woad's runaway the previous night. While the news were a hard blow for Devnet, her first thought went actually to Guinevere, who was probably crushed. She asked to see her immediately. Guinevere burst into her chambers looking pale and distressed, and yet somehow she still managed to hold that air of natural elegance of a wildling princess.

-Devnet!-she exclaimed, almost flying to the woman's bedside and pulling her in a delicate embrace, as to not harm her wound-I am sorry for not coming sooner! Everything has been so confusing...-.

Devnet ran her fingers through her cousin's thick, dark hair and replied in a soothing, emotional voice-Don't worry about it-she muttered.

Guinevere pulled apart and with a single look the cousins shared Enyak's passing. Seeing tears pool behind the woad woman's doe-like eyes brought more to Devnet's own, and they held each other in another embrace.

-Oh, Gwen-Devnet exclaimed, as her cousin started sobbing softly against her shoulder-I am so sorry-.

They stayed like that, holding each other, for long minutes of silence, save for Guinevere's soft sobs. Devnet ran her hand tenderly through her cousin's long, dark mane of hair. She found it easier than expected to sympathize with her, though funny enough, it was not because of Enyak's loss, but because of Tristan's. The truth was that the sarmatian knight had been more of a family member to her than her own cousin. Devnet wasn't sure if "brother" was precisely the term she would've used to describe Tristan, as opposed to Galahad or Gawain, basically because Tristan had never really been the brotherly type. But she supposed that the relationship between them had been close enough to match Guinevere and Enyak's. However, Devnet did not mention that to the woad girl. She didn't say anything along the lines of understanding, because Guinevere didn't need to hear that other understood what she was going through. No one could, unless they stepped inside her body. What the woman truly needed, was comfort. And sometimes the best comfort came with silence.

Guinevere's sobbing died out after a few minutes, and the woman pulled away gently, wiping away the last traces of her tears with a trembling breathe and the shadow of a smile filled with gratitude. Devnet mimicked her gesture and pressed her hands around Gwen's forearms, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

-He had a quick death, thank the Gods-the woad woman spoke, her voice more soothed, though still a bit trembling-He took many Saxons with him, he died an honorable warrior's death-.

-He deserved no less-Devnet assured her, rubbing Gwen's forearm tenderly-How's grandfather?-.

Guinevere shrugged-You never truly know with the man, do you? I'm sure que grieves, but he'll be fine, he has endured many losses before. Besides, he's been busy reorganizing the tribes, tending the wounded, leading the relations between Woads and Britons-.

-How's that turning out?-.

The woad shrugged again-Rough, but steady. It's still too soon to say for certain how all of this will result. But grandfather seems hopeful-.

The next couple of days were a haze in Devnet's memory. Her loved ones came to see her often, but even though they smiled and talked to her animatedly, the young woman could tell they would rather be elsewhere. And she couldn't blame them. Just by thinking how much needed to be done outside the four walls of her room made her restless. Besides recovering from the consequences of the battle against the Saxon, winter was just around the corner, and the invasion had completely destroyed the fields closest to the fortress. Everyone was desperate to gather as much supplies for the winter, and given their situation, they were obliged to ask aid to the nearby states.

Because of this, they soon realized that not only they had been left in utter chaos and uncertainty, but all of Britain was immersed in the same state of precarious balance between freedom and tension created by Rome's withdrawal. Old kingdoms, tribes, all were just awakening from a long slumber under the grip of the Roman fist, reencountering old allies and enemies, costumes long forgotten. Britain was learning to stand on its own all over again.

Intense relations had been opened between all the nations of the land, and everyone was desperately seeking for someone who would rule them justly and well, united under one banner, but of their own keen, not invaders like Rome. With all this vibrating atmosphere, the tale of how Arthur Castus, a mighty warrior both Briton and Roman, had expulsed de Saxon from their lands before they managed to invade the rest of the island, and already was the story acquiring shades of legend. Indeed, when the inhabitants of Britain realized their need of a strong leader, many eyes turned to the former roman commander. Arthur had suddenly found himself in charge of the land, and leaders from both the Britons and the woads turned to him for council and instruction. The young commander, thought used to exercising authority, was rather shocked by this unexpected responsibility that involved thousands of other lives under his will. However, he seemed to be handling the pressure rather well, even if it was with an unnecessary amount of preoccupation and exasperating modesty, constantly insisting that he was not meant for this even though whispers of crowning Arthur a king already circulated amongst the common folk.

As for the remaining knights of Arthur's company, all were well, beaten up, but well none the less. Merlin, after revising Lancelot closely and analysing the results of said studies, had stated that now that the man had regained conscious, the odds all pointed that he would survive, though he had a long recuperation ahead of him. Devnet spent most of her days with him. She was facing her own recovery. Though her wound wasn't as serious as Lancelot's, she was still instructed to rest in bed. The healers (her grandfather mainly) didn't, however, see any harm in her moving during the day to Lancelot's chambers.

The little half-woad curled in a small spot on the bed beside the man and normally read out loud to him whatever book she could lay her hands in. Lancelot rarely, if ever, paid attention to what she read. He liked to close his eyes and listen to the raises and falls of Devnet's voice as she moulded each word in her lips as if reciting the verses of an old enchantment. In the darkness of his closed eyes, he reached out for her free hand and held it close to himself, kissing the fingertips from time to time. He still didn't talk very much, since he was easily out of breath, but sometimes they would speak in hushed whispers about everything and nothing, simply rejoicing over the fact that they'd both survived to do it.

Weeks came and went, and then, one morning, Devnet woke up to a world bathed in a thin layer of white and the sound of laughter pouring from her window. It was a sound she had almost forgotten, given that lately people had little to smile about. But now children, in their wonderful capacity of overcoming sadness, ran up and down the streets throwing snowballs at each other or sliding on improvised sledges. It wasn't long before the adults, unable to resist any longer the laughter of their little ones, joined the games in the snow, and the laughter of both adults and children was the sound that now poured through her window. She opened it and peeked her head out into the cold morning air, her breathe turning into snowflakes. It wasn't until she felt a freezing sensation down her cheeks that she realized she was actually crying.

Her wound was healing quickly. She could already walk on her own. She couldn't strain her body too much, but Devnet was finally allowed to go outside and enjoy the fresh winter air against her face. She enjoyed seating by the courtyard of the knights' quarters, wrapped in blanckets, and watch Bors and Vanora's children play while her men kept her company with a hot drink in their hands. It was during one of this snowy afternoons that Devnet suddenly turned towards Gawain, who was dozing off beside her and gently shook his arm.

-Gawain-she called softly, her hands curling around his well-built arm.

The man woke up with a jolt snapped his blue eyes opened and looked at her.

-Yes?-.

Devnet bit at her bottom lips softly, her little fingers twisting the fabric of Gawain's sleeve between them.

-I...I think I'm ready to see Tristan-her voice was a fain whisper, shy in the winter air, but very sure of its words. The problem was that she was still unable to walk alone, and needed the man to support her.

The knight didn't answer immediately, but instead stretched his numbed limbs and shook of the snowflakes in his whiskers. He cleared his throat and a small cloud of vapour escaped his lips.

-Very well-he finally replied with a serious nod-I'll take you-.

They took their time to reach the cemetery, so as to not strain Devnet's healing wound. With mid-winter almost upon them, the scenery had become a pristine landscape of immaculate white and glistering ice; the Wall casting its long blue shadow over the frozen fields. The trail to the cemetery was muddy with squashed snow. Ever since the battle, it had become a commonly used road.

Devnet, of course, had been unconscious and struggling between life and death when the rest had buried Tristan. They'd laid the man to rest in a grave not far from Dagonet and amongst all those other men he'd fought side by side with throughout the past fifteen years.

With a soft cry, Devnet slowly fell to her knees beside the scout's grave, not minding the snow that immediately soaked through her skirt. She reached a shivering hand to touch the cold iron of Tristan's sword, letting her fingers trace the shape of the curved hilt. And she wept. She wept for Tristan. And for Dagonet. She wept for Percival, and Lionel, and Gaheris, and Morderek, and so many others she had lost along the way. She wept for Enyak, for the Lady Ygraine, and old Bayard. She wept for her father, her mother, and those ancestors she hadn't even known. In that cold field of gravestones and snow, the woman wept for the small piece of her heart that would be forever buried with the bones of her loved ones. She wept for everything she had lost, and what she'd managed to retain between her uneasy fingers. Because no matter how firm she held them, life would always have the power to take the rest away. She wept because it had chosen not to do so completely.

Gawain's hand closed around one of her thing shoulders, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and he smoothed her brown braids with tenderness.

-I can't believe he was foolish enough to face the Saxon lord on his own-the girl finally whispered, one of her hands closing over Gawain's on her shoulder while the other still rested on the hilt of Tristan's sword-And he always told me off for taking unnecessary risks in battle-she laughed through her tears, whipping her nose with the back of her hand-Gods, Tristan, you big fool. Why did you have to do it?-.

Gawain stepped forward and gently helped her to her feet, not wanting the woman to catch a cold. He wrapped his arms tenderly around her petite frame and kissed the top of her head as to comfort her while tears rolled silently down her face.

-You know he would've rather fall in battle than grow old and become unable to hold a sword. Being a warrior was not just part of him. It was his nature. You cannot blame him for the road he chose. He has crossed to the Other World in the way he'd always intended to- the blonde knight mumbled softly, his calloused hands rubbing Devnet's back tenderly.

-He could've stayed, none the less- Devnet whispered, eyes fixed on the grave -For us-. But deep inside, she knew that Gawain's words were true. Who and why Tristan had been the way he had been would forever stay a mystery, but there was no doubt that the man would've preferred to die for his friends rather than survive. Perhaps, the deadliest man Devnet had ever known was not incapable of love after all.

With a deep sigh, the young woman pulled away from her friend's embrace. Taking her hands from beneath the cloak that shielded her from the cold, Devnet revealed a single arrow, its white feathers unrecognizable against the snow, and with a gentle care, she sank the sharp end in the soil, so that the white feathers stood out, camouflaging with the snowy background. A sad smile crossed the woman's lips.

-Farewell and find peace, my beloved friend- she spoke, voice heavy with emotion -Might you ride across this land again soon-.

A lone, high-pitched cry echoed above their heads. Blinking under the pale winter sunlight, Devnet looked towards the sky and smiled. She heard Gawain's soft chuckle as the knight wrapped his arm around her slim shoulders, and they both contemplated the dark silhouette of the falcon soaring the air above.

After that day, Devnet finally began to heal her heart as well as her body. Soon, she was strong enough to take long, lazy walks across the snowy fields, leaving blue footprints that disappeared each night when it snowed. Arthur became her companion often in those slow, peaceful strolls, during which they talked with freedom and honesty, reconnecting through that brotherly bond they'd always shared that lately, they'd been setting aside. Thanks to this walks, Devnet could see Arthur changing day after day, from a man burdened by the expectations placed on his shoulders, to a hero that accepted his responsibility and came closer and closer to full fill what might just have been his destiny all along. It was amazing how wise he had become. Gone was the centurion that yearned a faraway and idealized Rome, to which he'd thought he belonged. Now he was certain that this was his land, he could feel the calling resonating through the hills, the forests and the mountains, whispering his name, claiming him as they had claimed Devnet's too.

_"Arthur, Arthur...thy time has come"._

Relations with the woads seemed to grow closer each day, according to what the man told Devnet. The woman couldn't help but smile at the wonder in his voice when he related the details of the latest council, how differences were slowly cast aside and all the chief lords of Britannia could finally reunite under an atmosphere of understanding.

-I cannot believe that I spent so many years fighting against this people, Devnet._ Our people._ They are not so different to us after all- he sighed, the snow crunching beneath the weight of his boots as the slowly made their way down the northern side of the Wall. There was no danger in trespassing those gates anymore.

-Of course they're not, Artorious. Humanity is not a quality of the race, but a quality of the human heart. Their culture is just a different manifestations of believes that have been shared from nation to nation for thousands of years before our time- the woman replied, lacing her hands around the man's arm -Under the Romans' rule, they made is forget that, and turn against each other. But now Britannia is learning to see that again. Now we will finally have peace amongst out people. Woads, Britons, all the Celtic tribes joined together as one nation. Bonds of brotherhood, friendship and love shall bind us to one another for now on. Together, we shall prevail-.

Arthur did not immediately reply to her words, but closed his gloved hand over her fingers wrapped around his forearm, patting them with gentleness. However, Devnet noticed her was frowning slightly, and looking emptily at the white blanket below them. She rolled her eyes and touched his face.

-What's on your mind now, silly? Can't you allow yourself a moment of peace? - She inquired sweetly. Arthur closed his fingers around the palm she pressed against his frozen cheek and kissed it gently despite it was covered by the thick fabric of the gloves.

-There is something I meant to talk to you about today. Don't worry, it is not a bad thing...I hope-.

Devnet lifted an eyebrow, clearly stricken by curiosity, and nodded-Very well then, what is it?-.

Arthur took a deep breathe.

-What would you think if I started courting your cousin?-.

That stopped her dead on her tracks, as frozen as the landscape around them. Arthur stopped to, his grey-green eyes fixed on her features in an attempt to read her expression. Devnet considered the notion thoughtfully. She'd known for weeks that they'd had a private thing going on between them, but she'd never actually taken the time to consider them in a projected way towards the future. Her woad cousin and her roman friend...who would've ever imagined such a thing? For her whole life, Devnet saw them living separated in completely different worlds that would never touch, between which she transited. But know they could be seen walking, sharing long conversations no one else was invited to, looking at each other in a way Devnet had seen men look as so many woman but never Arthur.

Guinevere was nothing like the woman Devnet had imagined her childhood friend would marry. She was no lady, but a warrior, born and raised in the foggy mountains of the north. Her hands were rough, with blood under her nails. Her hair was dark as a raven's wing. It had never been adorned with strings of gold and elaborated braids, but tousled by the wind. She spoke without being asked to, had an opinion about nearly everything. She was diplomatic, and elegant, but she was no more exquisite than Devnet was. She'd fought and bled for that land as much as any man would do. Reckless, untamed, sharp-tempered, she was every bit a wildling princess. And impulsive spirit, and proud wilderness growing uncontrolled in her heart. Which meant there was no better woman for Arthur than Gwen. She was just, and wise beyond her years, and as strong as the rocks that had cemented the structures of the earth. She challenged Arthur's authority, made him believe in things because he wanted to and not because he had to. She brought a light to his eyes, a joviality to his heart, like Devnet had never seen before, save for little parts of it.

-My cousin?-she finally looked at Arthur, trying to picture Guinevere beside him and finding it quite easy to do-My cousin and the man I consider my older brother? I guess it could be worse-she shrugged, that being everything she had to say about the matter, but for Arthur it was more than enough. His face broke into a smile as white as the snow around them, and he offered her his arm again, reassuming their walk.

-Something like your best friend and the woman you consider your younger sister?-he ventured with a crooked eyebrow. Devnet snorted.

-Hey, hey, hey. Who said anything about courting?-she protested, grinning widely, though in her heart the idea had shaken her a bit. Arthur looked at her for a moment before chuckling and shrugging himself.

-Well, I suppose courting wouldn't make much difference between you two at this point-he admitted, before laughing again. This time Devnet joined him, and their laugher echoed through the hills that had seen them grow.

That winter was long and cold, but it was one of the happiest those lands had seen in centuries. Or at least one of the happiest Devnet and the knights could remember. Long nights by the fire, between ale and smiles and hopes of times to come, their family stronger and finally beginning to heal after years of loss. Or snowball fights in the courtyard that started with Bors and Vanora's children and ended up with Devnet and the knights all rolling in the snowflakes, their cries echoing through the quarters every time their skin came in touch with the icy substances. Those were good days and surely, more would come, precious moments they'd longed for so long.

But the best of them all was that one morning when Devnet had been playing with the little bastards in the courtyard, and suddenly a snowball caught her in the back of her head. Surprised, the little woman turned to look for her attacker, and her smile became as wide and as luminescent as a ray of sunshine in winter.

Oh, how wonderful it was to finally see Lancelot back on his feet.


End file.
